The Day After Tomorrow
by Lady Alinor
Summary: Neither can remember the events they’d probably rather forget. Once bitter enemies, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy are forced to unite in their search to recover the past, especially since no one else is talking. AU after fifth year. Obviously HGDM.
1. Startling News

**The Day After Tomorrow**

**Summary: **Neither can remember the events they'd probably rather forget. Once bitter enemies, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy are forced to unite in their search to recover the past, especially since no one will tell them anything.

**Rating: **T for now.

**Setting: **Seventh year, disregards HBP and DH.

"And for next time, I want a two-foot essay on the pros and cons of using pi in Wizarding equations," Professor Vector called over the tumult of scraping chairs and rustling books.

Hermione dually noted the assignment before snapping her planner closed and sliding it into her bag. She paused by her desk for only a moment before joining the throng. There went her entire evening of revising.

"Vector's a slave driver," Padma Patil complained as she joined Hermione in the mad rush for the door. "I don't know how I'm supposed to get all my homework done _and_ put in those extra hours revising for N.E.W.T.'s the teachers keep demanding."

"I know," Hermione mumbled, wishing not for the first time that she had her time-turner again. So many things to do, so little time…

"And Seamus is being a brute about me spending all my spare time with him," Padma continued. "He never listens when I try to tell him I've got other things to do beside…"

"Besides snogging him in every broom closet, corner, and empty classroom?" Hermione finished, eyebrows raised.

Padma grinned sheepishly. "Well, yeah. Honestly, Hermione, you should be glad you don't have a boyfriend. It's really hard juggling both studies and a relationship around here."

"I'll keep that in mind," Hermione said as they reached the door.

As the flow of the crowd propelled them forward, someone knocked into her. "Watch your step, Mudblood," a familiar voice spat.

She didn't even have to turn around to know who it was. "In case you didn't notice, it was you who knocked into me, Malfoy," Hermione replied tiredly, inwardly rolling her eyes. The customary insults exchanged had grown old and so over-used that the barbs didn't really faze her any more. Both of them knew that she wasn't the same second year who had cried at Malfoy's stinging words. They knew, but now the exchange was so common that her day wouldn't feel complete without a few jabs from the Slytherin.

"Go ask Potty to lend you his glasses next time," Malfoy retaliated. "Then maybe you can keep your over large feet to yourself."

"Sod off," Hermione said unenthusiastically. Today she was too tired to think of any really good comebacks. Besides, his words lacked their usual venom.

"Yeah, go find someone of your own mental capability to annoy," Padma piped up, taking Hermione's arm and propelling her away from the blonde ferret.

"Thanks," Hermione said once they were well away from the disliked Slytherin. She slowed, the deep weariness slowly taking over once again. For reasons she couldn't figure out, she'd been feeling like dung for the past several days.

Padma, the typical Ravenclaw, was unfortunately too observant for her own good. "Are you alright?"

"Fine, fine," Hermione said, brushing away her concern. "I'll brew myself a Pepper-up Potion later and be fine. It's probably only a cold from this drafty castle."

The other girl didn't look convinced. "Whatever you say, but I'm still telling Parvati she needs to make sure you take better care of yourself."

They descended the stairs to the Great Hall. "Study with me later in the library?" Padma asked hopefully.

"Sure. Does eight sound good?"

"Great. See you later."

Hermione gave a half-hearted wave as Padma grinned and headed over toward the Ravenclaw table. The sad truth was, Hermione thought as she looked for her friends, that she was glad to have an excuse to stay out of the Gryffindor common room that evening. Harry and Ron had been acting extremely strange of late, almost as if they were uncomfortable to be around her. She couldn't figure out why, but it must be something that happened over Christmas holidays because Ginny was acting odd too.

Hermione had racked her brain, but in all reality, the last six months since the beginning of school were a blur. She'd let schoolwork occupy so much of her time that details of other events were foggy. Even Christmas holidays seemed a little misty, though she's spent the time with her grandparents. _I really have to pay more attention to what's going on around me,_ she chastised herself. _If I'm not careful, the year will slip by and I won't remember a thing at the end. Is this really how I want to spend my last year at Hogwarts?_

The answer was no.

She put on a cheery smile and dropped into a seat next to Harry. "Hi, Harry, Ron."

They looked up at her, exchanged a glance she didn't like very much, and then smiled too, though the smiles were half-hearted. "Hi, Hermione," Ron replied, pausing with his fork half-way to his mouth. "How was Arithmancy?"

This gave Hermione a chance to launch into a detailed description of the concepts they'd covered, the homework Vector had assigned, and the little incident with Malfoy afterward. Ron and Harry didn't seem to be listening until Malfoy's entrance into her tale. Then both heads popped up.

"Malfoy confronted you?" Harry demanded. "What did he say?"

Hermione frowned. "He called me a Mudblood, and I told him to sod off. Nothing out of the ordinary."

Neither boy seemed to be relaxing, and Hermione finally decided she'd had enough. "Listen you two," she began. "What on earth is going on? You tiptoe around me like I've got AIDs or something. You keep exchanging glances and whispering behind my back. Even Ginny is avoiding me. What happened? Are you mad at me for something?"

"No, nothing at all," Harry said hastily. "Nothing's going on. We're just…worried…about you, that's all. You seem more tired."

Hermione felt herself relax a little. "Yeah, I am," she admitted. "Maybe it's just all the schoolwork and the Head Girl duties catching up to me all at once. Or maybe I'm getting a cold or something, but don't worry about me, I'm sure I'll be fine."

"Just take care of yourself, Hermione," Ron said, his voice laced with much more concern than should have been present, and Hermione got the distinct feeling that she hadn't yet reached the bottom of her friends' strange actions.

* * *

With the bright dawn of Tuesday morning came the rolling waves of nausea that left Hermione gasping for breath. "'Mione? What's wrong?" Parvati mumbled from underneath piles of blankets on her bed as Hermione made a stumbling dash toward the bathroom. 

The contents of her stomach ended up in the toilet bowl as Hermione knelt on the tile floor, breathing hard.

Suddenly, she felt gentle hands pulling her hair out of her face and wiping the sweat off her brow. "Hermione, tell me what's the matter," Parvati said urgently. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Hermione said, but then her stomach revolted again.

"Oh Merlin," Parvati muttered. "Lavender, bring me a washcloth.

Hermione could hear the soft pattering of feet on the floor as Lavender left and returned with the requested object. A moment later the cool cloth was being pressed to her forehead as she leaned over the toilet a third time.

Parvati stroked her hair and wiped her face until Hermione was finally able to lean back against the wall. "It's nothing," Hermione insisted when she was able to speak. "I'm sure it's just the winter flu."

Without looking, she could tell Lavender and Parvati were exchanging meaningful glances. "I don't think so, hon," Lavender said, shaking her head. "But it couldn't be…could it, Par?"

Parvati bit her lip. "Perhaps…"

"What on earth are you talking about?" Hermione said, a little angrily, sitting up straighter. "I just have the flu, that's all."

"No," said Lavender, more serious than Hermione had ever seen her before. "No, you don't."

"Come on," Parvati sighed. "Let's get you to Madame Pomfrey."

* * *

Ten minutes later, Lavender and Parvati were dragging a still-protesting Hermione down the last flight of stairs to the Hospital Wing. 

"For the last time, I'm FINE!" she whined.

"Well, we'll let Pomfrey determine that," Parvati said firmly as she and Lavender pushed open the double doors.

"What is it now?" the bustling nurse said, her eyebrows shooting up at the three girls.

"Hermione's sick," Lavender began.

"I am not!"

"And she needs you to diagnose her," Parvati finished.

"Sit down on the bed," Pomfrey instructed.

"But I feel great…"

"I don't care if you feel good enough to climb Mount Everest, you're in my infirmary, and it's obvious to me that you're _not _alright. Now hold still."

Hermione gave a little angry noise, but did as she was told. Madame Pomfrey did a quick blood-drawing charm, then began a series of diagnostic spells.

"It's just the flu, right?" Hermione said, tossing her hair. "I'll get a potion and be done, right? I've got Transfiguration in a half hour…"

"Maybe," Pomfrey said distantly, waving her wand up and down. Suddenly, she stopped.

"What? What is it? Is it the flu?"

"No," she said slowly, her eyes fixed on Hermione's abdomen.

"Then what is it?"

The nurse looked up. "I guess there's no way around this than to just say it straight."

"Then say it already," Hermione said irritably.

Pomfrey raised her hands, then dropped them helplessly by her side. "Hermione, you're pregnant."

There was a stunned moment of silence, before Lavender and Parvati chorused in unison, "_Pregnant?!_"

**A/N: **I know, I know. _Another_ story started... But this plot bunny hopped into my head and wouldn't leave, so I'm trying my hand at a new plotline with a pairing I haven't attempted to write yet, and once again I'm attmpting to "rescue" an overused plot by adding hopefully interesting and new twists. I figured I'd post this as a teaser and see what the general opinion was. Tell me what you think.


	2. A Devious Plan

Lavender shook her head disbelievingly for what seemed like the hundredth time. Hermione Granger? _Pregnant?_ Stuff like this just didn't happen at Hogwarts, and _definitely _not to perfect role models like Hermione. And the worst of it was that Hermione was adamant that she hadn't slept with anyone at all. Of course _that_ was impossible; she must be lying.

She turned her attention back to the hospital bed where Parvati had been trying for ten minutes to calm Hermione down without any success. Madame Pomfrey must have gone to get Professor McGonagall.

With a sigh, Lavender joined her best friend on the bed. "Hermione, it'll be alright," she said, cutting the girl off mid-sentence. "You must have just forgotten to do a protection charm before, it could happen to anyone."

"No, that's not it!"

Lavender exchanged an exasperated look with Parvati, who pursed her lips and shook her head slightly. Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, Lavender turned back to Hermione. "It's OK, Hermione, you can trust us. Just tell us who the bloke was who knocked you up."

Hermione finally freed herself from their grasp and got off the bed to resume her pacing. "You don't get it. There _was_ no guy. I didn't sleep with anyone."

"That's impossible…" Parvati began.

"You don't understand," the Head Girl said slowly, as if speaking to a small child. "I can't be pregnant because I never…I mean, I haven't…" She blushed bright red, and Lavender's jaw dropped.

"Are you serious?" Parvati said incredulously. "You're a virgin?"

"Shhhh, don't say it so loud!" Hermione hissed angrily. "I don't want the whole school knowing!"

Lavender could definitely understand why. Sure, pregnancies were rare at Hogwarts, but only because students were careful. Really careful. It was really rare to find a sixth or seventh year who hadn't been shagged before, but obviously not as hard as she had originally thought.

"But you…you and Terry," Parvati sputtered.

"We just assumed that you two had, you know," Lavender cut in, studying Hermione carefully and wondering why on earth she hadn't known this before. They were dormmates, after all.

"Well, you assumed wrong."

The uncomfortable silence that followed was broken as the double doors burst open and McGonagall swept in, followed closely by the school nurse.

"Miss Granger, what exactly is going on here?" Professor McGonagall barked, arms crossed.

"I don't know," Hermione cried, her voice higher than usual. Lavender felt a stab of pity—obviously, she was fighting back panic, and Lavender couldn't say she blamed her.

McGonagall turned to Pomfrey, eyebrows raised, and the nurse said bluntly, "She's pregnant."

Surprisingly McGonagall seemed more dismayed than outright shocked, something that made Lavender wonder if something was wrong with this picture. But there was no way McGonagall could have known beforehand, unless there was something the professor was keeping from them…

"Honest, Professor, I didn't do anything!" Hermione was saying frantically, her eyes wide and scared. "I've never even slept with anyone before. The tests must be wrong!"

"I triple-checked the tests," Pomfrey said flatly.

Hermione must have taken dismay on McGonagall's face as anger, because she was still talking rapidly, her hands fluttering wildly. "I swear, Professor, I didn't! Can't Madame Pomfrey check the tests again? This must be a mistake!"

"I believe you," Professor McGonagall said unexpectedly, holding up a hand. "But Poppy seems sure of the results."

Hermione sank onto the nearby bed and gave a moan of despair. Lavender quickly sat next to her and put a sympathetic hand on the girl's shoulder. "When's it due?" Hermione whispered.

"The thirtieth of September."

"So I'm a little less than a month along," Hermione said, biting her lip, and Lavender had to commend her for her quick math skills at a time like this. She began to stroke Hermione's hair as the girl continued. "It could have happened on New Year's Eve, but I didn't go anywhere! At least I don't think I did…but I don't remember the holiday very clearly at all…" She trailed off, and Lavender could see the wheels turning.

"What?"

"I don't remember," Hermione said slowly. "Could there be the possibility of a memory charm?"

"Perhaps," said Professor McGonagall, her face an expressionless mask. "Highly unlikely, though, since you spent your break with your Muggle grandparents in Canterbury."

Hermione sighed. "All I did all break was study for my N.E.W.T.'s. It all seems like a blur." She turned back to her Head of House, eyes wide once again. "I won't lose my position of Head Girl, will I? If you decide so, I'd understand, but I worked so hard…"

"You won't lose your title," McGonagall reassured her. "But Professor Dumbledore will need to be informed and…"

"No," Hermione gasped. "I mean, in all regards, Professor, please don't tell the other teachers!"

"But Albus…"

"I'll tell Professor Dumbledore, but please don't tell anyone else!" Hermione turned to the others. "This goes for all of you. Please, I'm begging you not to tell anyone. This is so embarrassing, and I have no idea what I want to do, but I don't want anyone finding out."

McGonagall muttered something about the Order, which Lavender had never heard of before, but Hermione seemed to react even more violently to this than anything else.

"No! Definitely not the Order!"

"But Hermione," McGonagall said pointedly. "You must listen to reason. You'll need adults to help you through this if you decide to keep the baby. Your parents…"

"Are dead and therefore out of the picture," Hermione finished. "I well aware of that fact. But I'm of age, Professor, and I can deal with this myself. Please, please don't tell the Order."

She looked so close to tears that McGonagall must have taken pity. "Against my better judgment, I will agree not to inform the Order, but only after talking it over with Albus. You can go see him first, right now if you want."

Hermione nodded resignedly.

"But Professor," said Lavender timidly. "If it wasn't a Memory Charm, what was it?" It was against her better judgment to ask, but her curiosity had been insisting on stating the question ever since McGonagall had ruled out the option of memory modification.

Hermione didn't seem angry; instead, she was nodding. "What else could have made me forget everything like that?"

McGonagall looked uncomfortable. "Miss Granger, have no doubt that I am in no way questioning your standards or insinuating anything at all, but I've been informed that Muggle alcohol sometimes has the effects of memory loss."

"You think I went to a bar, got drunk, and slept with the first bloke I found," Hermione said bluntly. "I'm sorry, Professor, but I really don't think that was the case. I…I don't do that. And besides, _if_ that had happened, I would at least remember some of the events leading up to my outing to the bar, events that would have deeply upset or angered me. No, it must be a Memory Charm, or something else."

"Do you want me to perform a magical procedure that will inform us of the baby's father?" Madame Pomfrey asked.

Hermione started to nod, but McGonagall cut in sharply. "I don't think that would be wise," she said, an edge in her voice that hadn't been there before.

Lavender and Parvati exchanged looks. McGonagall _definitely _knew something she wasn't letting on.

"I'm not even sure I want to know anyway," Hermione said dully, staring at her hands.

McGonagall looked relieved, Lavender noted. She and Parvati glanced at each other again, sharing the same mental thought. They had to talk to Hermione later.

"I'll go to Professor Dumbledore now," Hermione said, straightening up and pushing her hair out of her face.

"Good choice," the Head of House said, nodding to the girl. Then her voice softened. "You have nothing to worry about, dear. I'll be here for you, as well as Madame Pomfrey, and your dormmates."

Lavender nodded vigorously, and Hermione managed a small smile. "Thanks," she said softly, but then her voice got stern. "You two won't tell anyone, will you?"

"You've got my word," Lavender said sincerely. It wasn't often that she really truly resolved to keep a secret, but this was one of those times.

"Sure," Parvati said. "Well, except my sister, but we can't keep anything from each other."

Hermione nodded. "As long as she doesn't tell anyone."

Parvati promised to keep Padma under oath on pain of death, and Hermione headed towards the door.

"Miss Granger," McGonagall called sharply, and Hermione paused. "Have you thought of whether you will keep the child or abort the pregnancy?"

It was a moment before Hermione replied. "I don't know yet," she said softly. "I just don't know. I'll need some time to decide."

"Understandable," McGonagall said, "but you do know that at your age, abortion would be the best option, especially seeing you're not yet out of school and still have a career to establish."

"I'll need some time to decide," Hermione said again, more pointedly. "But thank you for your concern."

Then she turned, head held high, and marched through the double doors.

* * *

"Hermione Granger, drunk and in bed with some random bloke from a bar? I just can't see it," Parvati called from across the room where she was parading in front of the mirror. "Lav, the blue shirt or the yellow?"

"Blue," Lavender said, not looking up from her perch on the bed where she was painting her fingernails bright red. "I think McGonagall's hiding something. Did you see her reaction to Pomfrey's announcement? It was almost as if she'd expected something like this to happen."

She'd been wondering about the mystery ever since leaving the Hospital wing. Parvati was more skeptical, but Lavender was absolutely positive there was more going on than they knew about. "In fact, have you noticed Harry and Ron treating Hermione any different lately?"

Parvati pulled the blue shirt over her head and studied herself in the mirror, frowning at her reflection. "Now that you mention that, they keep asking Hermione if she's OK, bugging her to eat enough, and telling her to lay off on the studying. But everyone knows that Hermione doesn't take care of herself, and Harry and Ron never took _that_ much interest before now."

"They must know something too," Lavender said, snapping her fingers on her unpainted hand. "This is larger than I'd first suspected. Do you think Pomfrey's in on it too?"

Parvati thought, then shook her head. "No, she seemed genuinely surprised. Honestly, though, don't you think you're reading into the situation just a little?"

"No," Lavender replied, annoyed. Why couldn't Parvati see the situation as clearly as she did? "Didn't you see the way McGonagall acted? Especially when Pomfrey suggested a test to see who the father was?"

"That was strange," Parvati admitted. "I'd have thought that McGonagall would want the tests done to find out whether the father was a student here or not."

"It was _extremely_ suspicious," Lavender began, but just then the dormitory door creaked open and Hermione slipped in. Her face showed signs of recent crying, but she smiled weakly at Lavender and Parvati.

"How'd it go with Dumbledore?" Parvati asked anxiously, crossing the room to Hermione.

She shrugged tiredly. "Alright, I guess. He was sympathetic, assured me I'd keep my Head Girl badge, and was about as informative as McGonagall. But he promised to keep it a secret from the other teachers and the Order."

"Did he say anything about how it could have happened?" Lavender pressed.

"Just that Memory Charms weren't an option."

Lavender looked over at Parvati meaningfully. "McGonagall said the same thing."

"She did?" Hermione looked surprised. "I don't really remember everything that was said. I suppose I was in shock." She gave a little bitter laugh. "Maybe I still am."

Lavender took a deep breath before launching into a detailed description of all the reasons why she was sure there was something bigger going that Hermione wasn't being informed about. The Head Girl listened intently as Lavender made her case, with a few interjections from Parvati.

"It's a bit far-fetched," she said once the girls were done. "But it's about the only thing I've got to go by right now, isn't it? Nothing else is making sense."

"McGonagall didn't want you to find out the father's identity," Lavender said. "I think you need to go back down to the Infirmary this minute and request a test."

"But why?"

Lavender shrugged. She honestly couldn't explain the feeling, but it was overpoweringly strong. "Gut feeling, I guess."

Hermione bit her lip. "OK," she finally said, looking nervous. "I'll go. You'll be here when I return?"

"We'll be here," Parvati promised.

* * *

The minute Hermione left, Parvati sent a message to her sister. "Why don't you ever use owls?" Lavender asked curiously as she watched Parvati fold up the note into a paper airplane and enchant it with a simple charm.

Parvati shrugged as she let the airplane go and then went to the door to let it out. "This is easier, I suppose, and pretty handy for short-distance messages. It's cheaper than owning an owl. Mum taught me the charm years ago. They use these for memos at the Ministry of Magic, I think."

It took Parvati's twin twenty minutes to get to Gryffindor tower. She burst into the room just as Lavender was finishing her toenails.

"What's going on?" Padma asked, pulling off the extra set of Gryffindor robes Parvati had permanently lent her just for such an occasion. Sometimes, Lavender thought, it would be really handy to have an identical twin in another House.

"How'd you get in the Portrait Hole?" Parvati asked, catching the robes Padma threw at her and folding them neatly on the bed.

"I just told Neville I'd forgotten the password," Padma said, smiling superiorly. "Now, what's the problem? I was right in the middle of revising for Arithmancy."

It only took a few minutes for Lavender to catch Padma up-to-date on the most recent events, but they hadn't even reached the end of the story when the door burst open again and Hermione stormed though.

"She bloody wouldn't give me the test!" Hermione shouted before Lavender could ask what was the matter.

"Who? _Pomfrey_?" Parvati exclaimed.

"Yes! She said that someone of higher authority had given her strict orders not to do one of parent-identifying tests on me, and then pushed me out of the Infirmary before I could ask any more questions. What the bloody hell is going on around here?"

Hermione must been in a really, _really_ bad mood to be using language usually attributed to Ron Weasley, Lavender noted. Still, she couldn't help feeling a smug satisfaction at Hermione's news. This meant there was _definitely _something going on. She had been right after all.

"She refused?" Padma shook her head incredulously. "They must really not want you to know the truth."

"If they think they can keep me from finding out simply by denying me a parentage test, they're wrong," Hermione growled, kicking at her trunk before sinking down on the rug. "But I can't do a test by myself…it'd take ages to make the potion and learn the proper spells…"

"You know I'd help you, Hermione, but I'm no good at Potions or casting spells," Lavender said apologetically, and Parvati echoed her sentiment.

"But Padma here," Parvati finished, looking at her sister.

To Lavender's surprise, Padma was nodding enthusiastically. Usually, you had to promise the world to get Padma to agree to anything. "I can help you, Hermione," she said. "Together we could have it done in only a few days."

"Are you sure? The potion is complicated," Hermione began skeptically, but Padma laughed.

"Don't worry, I think I can handle it. After all," she said in reply to Hermione's raised eyebrows, "I'm not a Ravenclaw for nothing."

**A/N: **The concern has been expressed that in starting a new story, I'm abandoning my other ones. This is not the case. I'm not abandoning any of the stories, simply writing spontaneously on whatever I feel like, something that's very important to keep me motivated as an author. Force me to write a chapter I'm not inspired to write, and I'll begin to dread updating and see my writing as a burden, something else to put on my never-ending list of things to do. Never fear, I'm working on chapters for _Rebuilding the World, Deal with the Devil_, and _All that Remains_ even as we speak.

More background will be explained as the story continues, but basically, it's the seventh year, Hermione's Head Girl, her parents were killed about four months earlier, and the war is still in full swing. This story disregards DH and HBP, something I haven't tried writing before. Wish me luck.

Also, something else I haven't tried before, this story will feature multiple points of view. The POV in this chapter was Lavender, in case you didn't notice.


	3. The Truth Comes Out

Hermione smiled in satisfaction as she stepped back to watch the clear blue potion simmer in the cauldron. It had taken her three days to get the potion to the stage it was at now—finished.

"Nice work," Padma said approvingly, eyebrows raised as she watched from her side of Myrtle's bathroom. "A potion nearly worthy of Snape himself."

"How's yours coming?" Hermione asked quickly, ineffectively trying to hide her blush at being complimented by a Ravenclaw.

"I need a rattlesnake tail and two drops of essence of mandrake, and then it'll be finished," Padma said, and Hermione handed her the ingredients. The Ravenclaw quickly added the ingredients, then stirred twice counter clockwise. The potion turned black momentarily, then faded into the thick red liquid the book had described. With a flick of Padma's wand, the flame underneath disappeared.

Hermione clapped. "Beautiful!"

Padma shrugged. "I'm a Ravenclaw," she said dismissively. "You, on the other hand…" She trailed off, admiring Hermione's potion enviously. "How ever did someone so bright end up in Gryffindor?"

Hermione laughed. "Watch what you say! I happen to be fiercely loyal to my House, dunderheads as they may be. Actually, I argued with the hat," she confided, and Padma's eyebrows shot up. "But don't tell anyone."

"My lips are sealed," Padma said, eying Hermione. "Shall we do this now? Or later?"

Hermione glanced at her wristwatch and quickly made some calculations. _Ron and Harry are in Quidditch practice until six, and then they'll go to supper, but they know I often skip to study, so they won't really start looking for me until around seven-thirty… _Mosby's Magical Medical Tests_ says the procedure will __take about an hour, but neither of us have done this before, so as amateurs we'd be wise to give ourselves an extra hour to complete the test…_

"Hermione? Hermione!"

She suddenly realised that Padma was talking to her. "Sorry," she said quickly, blushing. "I guess I was somewhere else."

"Obviously," Padma muttered.

"Yes, let's do it now," Hermione decided. "Unless you have somewhere else to be…?"

"I'm free," Padma said brightly. "Besides, I'm curious."

"It probably won't be anyone I know," Hermione muttered darkly. "Probably a Muggle. I mean, the whole thing happened over Christmas…"

"Don't be silly," Padma said reasonably. "Of course it's a Wizard. You don't remember anything, and you and I both know you wouldn't go out and get wasted for no reason at all, so it has to be memory modification. So unless you can think of a reason that you'd have to drink your problems away…"

Hermione shook her head. "None."

Padma frowned. "Unless this had something to do with your parents' deaths last semester…?"

Hermione sighed, frustrated. "No, for the last time, I'm _fine._ I've gotten over their deaths. I was over it before Christmas Break begun. I did my grieving, and moved on."

Padma didn't look convinced. "They were killed in late October, Hermione. It hasn't been that long. I've read books on psychology, and _no one_ gets over a major tragedy like that in a mere three months."

"Well, I did," Hermione snapped, not wanting to discuss it. Callous as it seemed, she _had_ gotten over her parents' deaths. She'd cried a few times, then decided that her parents would have wanted her to move on. She was sensible, after all, rather than emotional.

Now that she thought about it, though, she was having a rather hard time remembering the exact events surrounding that day in October… Hermione closed her eyes, rubbing her forehead lightly. She'd gotten the news, though she couldn't even recall exactly who had told her…. She remembered crying… But nothing else was coming to mind, not even fuzzy details.

"Good lord, I'm going crazy," she muttered, looking up at Padma as she felt a cold fear grip her throat. Was she losing her mind?

"What's the matter?"

"I can't remember the details about their deaths. It's just a vague memory to me."

"That happens to lots of people," Padma replied soothingly, laying a comforting hand on Hermione's arm. "It's called repression. When a tragedy is especially tragic, the subconscious mind takes the fine details and erases the memories. It's a defense mechanism."

"A _what_?"

"A defense mechanism," Padma said, crossing her arms. "Haven't you ever read about psychology before? I thought for sure you'd have read every book in the Hogwarts library by now."

"They've got books on Muggle psychology?" Hermione questioned disbelievingly.

"They've got books on _everything,_" Padma corrected. "Now, do you want to get started, or not?"

Hermione did, but first she wanted to make sure. "You're absolutely positive it's normal for me not to remember their deaths?"

Padma nodded. "Positive. Don't worry about it."

Something told Hermione that she shouldn't take the girl's advice, that there was still something odd about her lack of memory, but she pushed those thoughts to the back of her head and focused on the present situation. "Then let's begin."

First, Padma transfigured one of the desks into a simple cot. "You'll need it," the girl said, when Hermione protested. "Trust me, this test isn't one of the easiest to undergo."

The Ravenclaw handed her a cup of the clear blue potion, which Hermione downed. Instantly, it felt as if she'd been hit in the stomach. She doubled over, stumbling back to the bed and groaning. "What on earth is this?"

Padma pulled up a desk for herself and smiled sympathetically. "It's rough at first, isn't it? One of the books said it was a very physically demanding test."

"I guess…I didn't read…that far…" Hermione managed between gasps for air. "Why…does it feel…this way…?"

"The potion works to extract the DNA from your fetus and pull it into the bloodstream so we'll be able to access it without harming the baby," Padma explained nonchalantly. "It feels that way because it's drawing magical energy from your body rather than your baby's in order to protect it."

Hermione nodded, unable to speak as she grasped her stomach and fell back on the cot.

After fifteen minutes, the pain subsided, and Padma reached for the cauldron of red potions. "Lie back down," she commanded. Grumbling, Hermione obeyed, and Padma quickly lifted her school shirt just high enough to reveal her stomach. "This might sting a little," the Ravenclaw said as she smeared the potion over Hermione's belly. "And now, we wait, again."

A half hour passed before Padma took up her wand and told Hermione to lie very still and to close her eyes. Then the girl began a long string of complicated incantations. Hermione had studied them, and knew that the spells were weaving a complicated protective wall around both her and the baby while at the same time working to decipher the DNA into a positive answer as to the identity of the family.

Finally, Padma finished the spells. "And now, we wait a third time," she told Hermione softly. "Don't move yet."

"I'm not going anywhere," Hermione said through gritted teeth. "How much longer?"

"Not much," Padma replied, her eyes riveted on the spot above Hermione's stomach. "In fact…look, Hermione, letters are forming!"

"Who is it?" Hermione asked fighting back the mixed feelings. She wanted to know, but in a way, she enjoyed the bliss of not knowing the truth. What if the father was someone horrible like some random drunk Muggle, or worse, a Pureblood sex-crazed Wizard who believed that the only thing Mudbloods were good for was a good shag...

Parvati didn't reply. She seemed fixed on the words in thin air…

"Who is it?" Hermione repeated again, annoyed. She shoved herself up on her elbows, not caring that her shirt had fallen into the red mud-like stuff on her stomach, straining her eyes to see the words.

"Oh my god," Parvati whispered. "I don't believe it."

"_What_?" Hermione demanded. She scrambled off the bed and took a few steps back. Then she stopped, frozen in place at the silvery words hanging ominously over bed.

_DRACO MALFOY._

There was a long pause as the two girls stared at the words. A million thoughts raced through Hermione's mind, buoyed along on a wave of burning anger. Good god, the father was Draco _bloody _Malfoy How had this happened? And _why oh why_ did it have to happen to her?

Malfoy must have raped her. It was the only reasonable explanation. He'd raped her, and then put a memory charm on her, thinking that would be the end.

_But how __is__ that possible?_a reasonable part of her mind said. She'd been at her grandparents' house for the entire holiday. It was ridiculous to think that he'd followed her there… But he might have known where she was going. He was Head Boy, after all, and they did have to talk for some things, such as making Prefect schedules and solving student-related problems, though they still avoided each other as much as possible. But it _was_ possible that she'd told him where she was going to be by a slip of the tongue…

One thought burned most prevalently in her head, and it was the first thing that slipped from her lips. "That _bastard_ is dead. _So _dead."

Padma actually looked nervous. "Hermione…"

Hermione's eyes were hard as she turned toward the girl. "Put the remaindered of the potions in self-preserving jars, and then I'd suggest leaving, unless you want to witness a particularly nasty murder."

"It could be a mistake," Padma ventured, her eyes wide and scared.

"I don't think so," Hermione growled, flicking her wand to remove the red potion from her stomach and shirt, then stalking toward the door. "Excuse me."

She found him lingering in a hallway with his Slytherin cronies. They were laughing rudely about something when she stomped forward, and Malfoy looked up, surprise evident in his eyes for only a moment before a characteristic smirk slipped back into place.

"Granger," he drawled.

"Malfoy," Hermione returned, her voice cold as ice. "I need a word. _Alone."_

Pansy Parkinson giggled as Blaise Zabini whistled and elbowed Malfoy. "Did you hear that, Draco? She wants to see you _alone._"

Malfoy turned back to me. "If you wanted a quickie, Granger, all you have to do is ask Blaise here; he does Mudbloods if you know just how to convince him..."

"I'm serious_" _Hermione hissed. "Don't cross me, Malfoy, today is _not_ the day."

Malfoy's eyebrows shot up as Blaise and Pansy smirked and made rude comments, which Hermione paid no attention to. But he shrugged, laughing a little at something Blaise had said, then turned back to Hermione. "I'll have to check my schedule, Granger…"

He was playing games, and she _really_ wasn't in the mood. "I don't have time for this," she growled, and grabbing the edge of the robes, began pulling him toward the classroom.

"Eeeww, Mudblood germs!" Pansy squealed as Blaise snorted in laughter.

"Guess she _really_ wants me," Malfoy called over his shoulder, shrugging helplessly as Hermione dragged him down the corridor.

Up a flight of stairs, down another corridor, through a shortcut, and up another staircase. She resisted the urge to murder him in cold blood right here in the hallway. But it really wouldn't do much for her reputation if the killed the Head Boy right in front of a crowd of witnesses in the middle of a busy corridor.

"So what's really the matter?" Malfoy asked, halfway up a third staircase. "Did those fourth years smuggle Skiving Snackboxes into their classes again?"

He actually had the audacity to ask her what was wrong. Was he totally draft? Did he think she'd remain oblivious forever?

"Fine, ignore me. Pretend I'm not even here. I can do invisible, Granger. I suppose if you had your way, I'd have never existed anyway. Or at least I wouldn't have become Head Boy. I know you wish Weaselbee had been Head Boy. It would have given you two so many more opportunities to shag, wouldn't it?"

Malfoy stopped, and Hermione wondered what exactly was going through his mind. Then, when he spoke, she took back that last thought. He was telling her exactly what was on his mind, and she didn't appreciate it. His voice had a slyer undertone as he said, "Or did Weasel break up with you? Is that why you want a quickie? 'Cause you're missing Weasel? You should have asked Potter. He probably would do you if you offered. Or maybe you were looking for someone a little more…capable."

He stopped, suddenly, and Hermione spun around to tell him off, but she was rendered speechless when she realised that he was looking at her, his eyes wandering slowly over her body. "You're not too bad, Granger, though your clothes are a little homely. You'll have to come up with something really good to convince me to do you…"

_You already did!_ Hermione wanted to shout in his face, but of course the third years passing them would probably die of shock, then tell everyone else they ran into, and that was the _last_ thing Hermione wanted—for her and Malfoy to become the latest gossip at Hogwarts. Oh, the students would love that… the esteemed Head Girl, sleeping with the Head Boy—a Slytherin, no less— and _pregnant,_ at that.

She merely contented herself with a nasty glare before yanking him up the rest of the stairs and into the empty classroom.

Thank god Padma had taken her advice and left. As soon as the door had slammed behind them, she slammed Malfoy up against the wall with a burst of unexplained energy and pressed her wand into the soft flesh of his neck.

Malfoy's eyes widened, his smirk disappearing, replaced by an expression of surprise with a trace of anxiety. "God, Granger, what's got your knickers in a twist? Get that wand out of my face!"

"Shut up! _Shut up_!" Hermione yelled, completely losing her cool with Malfoy for the second time in her life. She had put up with him so many times before, sometimes keeping her mouth shut, sometimes retaliating with sharp words, but only once before had she completely lost control. That was the time in her third year when she'd punched him, but to this day, she blamed the incident on the stress of her classes and lack of sleep, compiled with Buckbeak's execution. But this time, she had a motive to be mad, not just the reason Harry and Ron used every time they encountered the ferret—the "Malfoy's a git, and he hates our guts" reason.

"You mindless, slutty, horrible, loathsome spawn!" Hermione continued, still shouting. He still didn't look scared enough. He should be trembling by now—she meant business this time. "Evil, horrible, sex-crazed bastard! _What__ did you do to me?"_

Malfoy _had _been looking nervous, but at her question, his expression changed and he gave her a completely bewildered look.

But it was probably just an act. He was trying to get out of telling the truth. "You had better be very careful about what you say, ferret, because I am not in the mood to listen to lies," she warned through gritted teeth, pressing her wand even further into his skin. He winced a little.

"Bloody hell, Granger, what on _earth_ are you talking about?"

**A/N: **You know what I want now...

This chapter, Hermione's POV. Next chapter, Draco's, which should be loads of fun to write.

And yes, _My'Lady'Athena,_ you need to review, even if you already read half the chapter for me earlier today...lol...


	4. Hold Nothing Back

Draco Malfoy was having a good day.

He'd woken at a leisurely hour, sauntered up to the Great Hall with Crabbe and Goyle for some breakfast, tormented a few first years, received an "E" on his latest Potions essay from Snape, taken away House points from some of those dratted Gryffindors, and spent part of his afternoon in a broom closet with a pretty fifth year Slytherin whose name he couldn't recall. Yes, it had been a good day.

At least until Granger had appeared out of nowhere, dragged him into a deserted classroom, stuck her wand in his neck, and demanded to know what he'd done to her.

Clearly, the girl was going mental. Too much time in the library would do that to person.

"Bloody hell, Granger, what on _earth_ are you talking about?" he asked, completely nonplussed.

For a long moment, she stared at him with large, tortured eyes; then she seemed to realise that he honestly had no idea what she was talking about, and backed away.

Draco rubbed the spot where her wand had left a bruise on his neck, inwardly cursing the Mudblood. But something was up with her, and though he hated to admit it, he felt a sort of annoyingly burdensome responsibility to her. She was Head Girl, and responsible for all the Prefects as well as the entire student body, but there was no one else to look out for her, save for the teachers. Her friends, he couldn't help but notice, had been acting strange and slightly avoiding her ever since Christmas break. Perhaps they'd had a row.

He pulled himself back to the present. Granger was pacing between the desks, her face stricken, her arms wrapped tightly around her stomach. Unexpectedly, she stalked over to the teacher's desk, and picked up one of the glass vials. "Do you know what this potion is?" she demanded.

Draco studied the bottle and its red contents warily. "Haven't the faintest clue."

"This," she said stiffly, "is Sori Sori Potion."

She waited, obviously expecting her revelation to generate some type of reaction, but Draco merely shrugged. "Is that supposed to mean something to me?" Clearly the Mudblood had gone mad. Or he was seriously missing something here. But Draco would rather think that he was correct about the former, not the latter.

Granger stomped her foot like a four-year-old and made an enraged noise in the back of her throat. She took a few angry steps in his direction, then abruptly halted and sank into a desk. It struck Draco that she looked like the very picture of anguish and despair, though he hadn't the slightest idea why.

"Granger?" He cautiously approached her, stopping a respectful five feet away. "Granger, what's the matter?"

Slowly, she raised her head, and whispered, "I'm pregnant."

Draco blinked. She'd dragged him all the way upstairs to tell him she was _pregnant? _"I'll have to send my congratulations to Weasley or Potter," he said snidely. "Which one is it, by the way? Hopefully not Weasel, his house is overflowing with too many kids already; his mum and dad wouldn't be able take care of another one…"

"It's neither," Granger hissed, her voice stronger. Draco took a cautionary step backwards, unconsciously rubbing the bruise on his neck. If she came near him with a wand again...

"This," Granger said, waving the bottle at him again, "is a Potion that is used in a complicated medical procedure which serves to name the father of a baby."

"You don't know who the father is?" Draco said, doing a double-take. "Wow, Granger, I'm impressed. I didn't think of you as the type of girl…"

"I've already done the procedure, and I think you'd be particularly interested in the results," Granger said, her voice low and her eyes narrowed to icy slits.

Something was up, Draco decided, as an uneasiness in his stomach and a little voice in his head warned him that he'd be wise to listen to her. "What are you playing at, Granger?" he said warily.

"I think that's a question you should answer, Malfoy," she spat, drawing her wand. Draco flinched, but instead she pointed it at her stomach and murmured, "Genotori Revealito."

Draco watched in fascination, then in horror as silver lines burst from her stomach and formed words in the air. It was impossible…but there the words were, flaunting the truth before his very eyes.

_DRACO MALFOY._

"Is this some type of sick joke?" he said, desperately searching for words with which to build a defense, a wall, anything to prove her wrong. In a moment, Potter and Weasley would jump out from behind the desk, laughing about how they pulled off the greatest prank of the year, making Malfoy believe that he'd knocked up a Muggleborn… Then Draco would gladly beat their brains to bloody pulp…

But no one was yelling, "Got you!" Granger's pale, stricken face confirmed the truth more than anything else… But it couldn't be correct. There was no way on earth that the potion and spell were right. He'd have known if he slept with her, wouldn't he?

Suddenly, Draco wasn't sure of anything anymore. It was terrifying.

"What did you do to me?" Granger's voice was low and dangerous.

"Nothing!" Draco retaliated. Then he stopped and checked himself. He didn't have to explain himself to her; if anything, she should be doing the explaining—dragging him in here and accusing him of…of _this._

"You raped me!"

"I did not!" he defended automatically. "Listen, Granger, I don't know what you're playing at…"

"No, _I _don't know what _you're_ playing at," she spat angrily. A second later, her wand was out, but this time, Draco was just as quick. He jumped back and unsheathed his wand. If it came to a duel, on normal conditions he had to admit she was pretty good—Potter had seen to that—but if they dueled now, he was sure he'd win. Her hand was shaking violently—unless she hit him by pure luck, there was no way she'd be able to concentrate enough to aim a good hex.

"You want to duel? Go ahead, do your worst," Draco taunted. He almost wanted her to cast a spell, but unfortunately, even in her anger, Granger was still as rational as ever, if you could call her rational in the first place. She didn't take the bait.

"You're lying to me," she ground out. "You're lying, you little two-faced, sodding son of a…"

Draco gave a loud laugh. "You think I'm lying? God, Granger, you've got to be joking if you think I'd lie about something like this. You honestly think I'd rape you and put a memory charm on you? That's ridiculous! I think you'd better redo your little potion test, cause there's no way on earth it's correct."

"My potions were perfect! I tested everything, I double checked each step, read everything the library had to say about the procedure, even got a bleeding Ravenclaw to help me... First the rat's claw, then the parsley, then the wailing rose petals…" Somewhere in the course of her monologue, Granger dropped her wand and began to pace between the desks, her face screwed up in concentration.

"Well, Granger, this has been fun," Draco began coldly, "but I've got loads of better things to do than stand here listen to you raving like a lunatic… Listen, just go to Madame Pomfrey. I've heard it from a good source that she gives out pregnancy tests to whores like you…"

"I am _not_ a whore!" Granger screamed wildly, spinning around with her wand out. Fortunately, he hadn't lowered his own wand… "For your information, Malfoy," she hissed, "I _went_ to Madame Pomfrey, and _she wouldn't give me the test."_

Draco blinked. He thought for sure he'd overheard that Greengrass girl telling a fellow Slytherin how it'd been that particular magical procedure that'd let her know that the father of her baby was Blaise Zabini, and that Madame Pomfrey had been the one to administer it. Of course Greengrass hadn't been _this_ worked up over it.

"Well, you can stop your fretting, Granger, because I'm definitely not the father. I think I'd remember if I'd slept with a Mudblood."

But something wasn't adding up here; he knew that she knew it too. Her friends acting strange and distant all of a sudden, the nurse refusing to administer the test…

What on earth was going on?

Granger's wand was hanging forgotten at her side as she watched him with wide, frightened eyes. "You don't remember anything?"

"What kind of question is that?" Draco demanded. "I've already told you, I didn't knock you up, so you can go find another bloke to blame…"

"No, I didn't mean it like that…well, I did, but not that particular way…" Granger rambled, her voice softer as she stared unseeingly past his left shoulder. "I've been having some memory loss…"

"Well, gee, I'm sorry; I've heard they've got a great ward for mentally ill people at St. Mungo's, though…"

"What do you remember from Christmas holidays?" she said suddenly, her voice urgent.

He stared at her. "What kind of question is that?"

"Just answer it!"

He shook his head. _Mental, she's gone completely mental. _"Uh, fine. I went home, and Mum and Dad were there…" He paused and frowned. _Good __god_I'm_ going mental! Why are the details so hard to remember?_ "I, uh, studied for N.E.W.T.'s…"

She was nodding now, looking irritatingly satisfied. "I can't remember any of the details either."

"So I can't remember some things from Christmas. What's that got to do with anything…?"

"And last semester? What do you remember from last semester? Say, the times we had to make Prefect schedules together."

He stared at the floor, thinking. They'd done schedules, he knew that, but he couldn't honestly remember a specific time… It was if a part of his mind had just been completely erased. He opened his mouth to make something up, but nothing came out.

"See? Nothing! I can't remember anything either. Something's going on!"

"You're mental, Granger. Nothing's going on!" But Draco could hear the uncertainty in his own voice, and as he thought back, trying desperately to remember something, he was drawing only blanks. It was terrifying, but he couldn't show her how unnerved he was feeling.

Granger huffed impatiently. "You don't get it, do you? Our memories are gone. I'm pregnant. Something happened, and then we were both Obliviated." Her eyes narrowed. "Or else, you raped me and then Obliviated me."

"Don't be ridiculous!" Draco snapped. "We were _both_ Obliviated. I wouldn't wipe my own memories, would I?" Had he been Obliviated? Was this what it felt like? He wasn't sure of anything right now, but he was leaning more and more toward believing her story. Except the part of his raping her. Scratch that, except for the part of his getting her pregnant at _all_.

"Your potions _still _might be wrong," he said defensively.

She shot him an offended look, but finally crossed her arms and said, "Then _you_ make the potions and we'll do the test again. You're…_decent_…in Potions."

"Fine."

"Good."

They glared at each other for a moment. Draco couldn't believe he'd just agreed to make her a potion to prove that he either was or wasn't the father of her child. The thought suddenly occurred to him that he might be feeling sorry for her. But that was impossible. Malfoys never felt _sorry_ for people.

Something else tickled at the back of his mind. "Your friends know something," Draco said impulsively.

Her eyebrows shot up. "What?"

He shrugged. "They've been treating you strangely lately. Whispering when you're not looking, sneaking glances at you behind your back, avoiding you sometimes."

"I didn't know you were so obsessed with me that you watch me every minute of the day," she snapped, but he could see the proverbial wheels turning. "They _have_ been acting oddly… I should ask them…"

Suddenly a thought hit him. "Granger, have you told them you're pregnant?"

Numbly, she shook her head.

"So they were acting weird before this mess began."

"Yeah."

"So they might know something about why you're pregnant, and why neither of us remember anything."

Her mouth formed an "O". "I'll ask them!" she exclaimed, and made like she was going toward the door.

"No! Wait!"

Granger stopped.

"Has it occurred to you," Draco said slowly, "that whoever obliviated us did it for a reason, and if they find out we _know_, they might try to Obliviate us again?"

Granger's eyes widened. "Holy Mother of Merlin…"

"Language, Granger. You're beginning to sound like Weasel."

"Do you think…" she began hesitantly. "Do you think that might be the reason why Madame Pomfrey wouldn't give me the test?"

"You're brighter than you look, Granger," he sneered.

"But why would they Obliviate us in the first place?" she wondered aloud.

"And why are your _friends_ keeping secrets from you now?"

"They probably Obliviated me because of the traumatizing experience I'd had being raped by you," she said bitterly, shuddering.

"I did _not_ rape you!" Draco said irritably. "But if I did, I assure you, it would be a very pleasant experience."

She gagged and choked, and he clicked his tongue at her. "Come come, Granger, you're hurting my feelings."

Granger rolled her eyes. "You could use a good ego deflation," she snapped, then fell silent as she gathered up the potions on the desk. When she turned again, her face was pensive. "Malfoy," she said quietly, "what are we going to do now?"

"Gee, I don't know. Throw a baby shower? Invite half the school?"

"I'm serious," she muttered, staring at her hands. "_What_ are we going to do?"

Draco honestly couldn't think of something to say, so instead he sank down into one of the desks. "I don't know," he finally answered. _Think. Think rationally. What would Granger do?_

He almost laughed aloud at the last thought, but it got him thinking. What to do, what to do…

"Memory charms," he blurted out, and Granger looked up, a confused expression on her face.

"What?"

"We're under memory charms," Draco said, slower so she'd get it. "Memory charms are said to be irreversible, but I've never seen proof of that."

"We could research it," Granger said, her eyes lighting up. "I know just the place to start in the library…"

Draco snapped his fingers. "Took you long enough to figure that out, Granger. Library, tomorrow night, seven. Don't be late."

She gave him a long look, then nodded. "Don't worry, I won't."

_be kind...review..._


	5. The Plot Thickens

Hermione quickened her pace as she climbed the last staircase to the seventh floor. Her robes billowed behind her and her bag grew heavier and heavier with every step. The weight of the events of the past few days seemed to be crashing down all at once. She was pregnant. Malfoy was the father. And neither of them remembered anything.

That wasn't entirely true, though. Something strange was had happened during the fight. In the middle of their argument, she'd suddenly had a strange memory, almost like a flashback of something that'd occurred so long ago that she'd nearly forgotten about it. She had seen herself in a heated argument with Malfoy, only they were in a deserted corridor on their patrol. The words, "You can't keep favoring Slytherins, Malfoy," floated through her head distantly, as well as his retort, "I don't see you taking points from your precious friends, Granger, and we both know that Potty and Weasel break the rules all the time…"

She wasn't sure if what she'd seen had actually happened or not. It'd been more like a vague dream, almost like watching a movie of a person who only vaguely resembled her. She shook her head, trying to clear her mind. There had to be an answer somewhere—it was probably right before her eyes, and she just kept missing it. There was something bigger going on and she was starting to wonder just how many people were involved. Ron, Harry, and Ginny had been acting extremely odd ever since Christmas; McGonagall hadn't even seemed shocked to learn of the pregnancy—neither had Dumbledore, now that she thought of it; Madame Pomfrey had downright refused to give her the pregnancy father test. She needed to think things through, but amid her racing thoughts, the only thing she could focus on was the single life-shattering fact.

"I'm pregnant," she said aloud. "I'm _pregnant._"

"That's wonderful, but aren't you supposed to be in your dorm about now?" a voice said snidely from behind her.

She whirled around angrily, but it was only a portrait of a stingy old man watching her. She glared at him. "I'm Head Girl," she snapped before turning heel and stomping toward the portrait hole.

The common room was predictably full of students. No one seemed to notice her entrance, save for Parvati and Lavender who looked up from their corner table, concern and worry written on their faces. Lavender beckoned her over, but Hermione shook her head slightly. "Later," she mouthed, and the girl nodded.

Harry and Ron were sprawled on the rug in front of the roaring fire playing a game of Exploding Snap. Ginny was curled up in on the couch, her head buried in her notes as she quizzed a fellow sixth year over Potions ingredients.

Hermione dropped wearily into a high-backed chair and let her bag slip from her fingers. It fell with a thud on the floor, and Ron and Harry looked up.

"Hermione!" Ron exclaimed. "We were wondering where you were."

"Library," she said simply. Fortunately, the excuse worked just fine—they hardly entered the library anyway, and it was perfectly reasonable alibi.

"I was just there," Ginny suddenly said, looking up. "I didn't see you anywhere."

Hermione had the vague feeling that she was being interrogated for reasons she wasn't being told. "I left earlier and went to the Ravenclaw tower to pick up some notes from Padma for our Arrithmancy project," she answered, keeping her voice light and hoping to heaven that Padma hadn't been in the library as well.

Today, she was lucky. Ginny seemed to accept the answer and returned to her books without another word. _But I might not be so lucky next time, _Hermione thought wryly. _Next time, I need to have a plausible excuse prepared._

Suddenly her stomach gave a lurch and she doubled over, fighting back the wave of nausea. Mostly, the morning sickness stayed true to its name, but once in a while, she'd feel sick at other times. _No, no, no, not here, not in front of _them…_ Act like nothing is wrong…they can't find out…_

She really wasn't sure why she was so adamant about keeping her pregnancy from her friends, but a gut feeling told her it was crucial that they _not_ know. Something about her conversation with Malfoy had changed everything. Suddenly, she felt as if she could no longer trust them; they were keeping things from her, she knew it. Important things; things she should know. But if she confronted them…

She should confront them. She should stand up and shout at Harry and Ron and Ginny that they were lousy friends for keeping something so huge, so monumental and life-changing from her.

But if she told them that she knew, what would they do? There was obviously something bigger going on here. If they knew that _she_ knew that she and Malfoy had…well, slept together, and even worse, created a _child,_ well, all hell would break forth. Would they have the audacity to Obliviate her a _second _time as Malfoy had suggested?

Harry and Ron were instantly at her side. "Hermione, what's wrong?" Ron said, worry lines instantly appearing on his face.

She smiled weakly. "I'm fine; I think it was just something I ate, that's all. Shouldn't you two be studying anyway? We've only got a few months before we have to take our N.E.W.T.'s."

Most of the anxiety left their faces, but there was still something in Ron's eyes as he protested, "'Mione, we've been studying all day! We've got to take a break sometime."

She clicked her tongue. "You know we've got that Transfiguration test to study for, and three feet of an essay due on Monday, and here you two are just playing games like there's nothing to worry about! You should be ashamed of yourself."

Groaning and muttering, the boys reached for their school bags; usually, Hermione would be feeling very self-satisfied right about now, but tonight was different. A mixture of emotions was rushing though her chest; she wasn't sure whether to be furious or deeply hurt right now.

_All of the above,_ she thought, her fists balling up in her lap. _I'm feeling all of the above. _But now was not the time to be sulking in the corner for the grave injustice of life; she needed to plan. She and Malfoy would search the library for a reversal spell or potion for Memory Modification charms, but that wasn't enough for Hermione—she needed to take the search a step farther. She was beginning to question everything that had occurred in the past six months. How much was real, and how much was made up?

Then the thought struck her: had she ever gone to her grandparents' house at all?

Harry looked up from his Transfiguration book. "You look like you're a thousand miles away, Hermione. Are you sure you're alright?"

_Besides the fact that I'm pregnant because of my worst enemy, and you knew about it and didn't tell me?_ she wanted to say. Instead, she decided to use a subtler method.

"I'm fine," she said, staring at the book she was holding and nibbling at the end of her quill. "I…well, I had another incident with Malfoy today."

The reaction was instantaneous. Or maybe it was more obvious to her because this time she was paying close attention to their responses. Harry and Ron glanced quickly at each other, a multitude of messages passing between them in the silence. Ginny's notes slipped from her hands and fell to the floor with a crash. The sixth year looked annoyed as she slipped from her seat to help Ginny gather the papers, but Hermione noticed that even amid Ginny's embarrassed apologies, her face was pale.

"An incident? What happened?" Harry said tightly, obviously trying to act nonchalant, and failing miserably.

She shrugged dismissively, still watching their reactions carefully out of the corner of her eye. "He's been favoring Slytherins and taking away points from the other houses," she quickly fabricated, using the scenario from the flashback she's had early. Maybe it would elicit a reaction from her friends. "I told him he had to stop, but he just laughed at me and told me to stop favoring Gryffindors. The jerk…"

Ron and Harry looked just a little relieved.

"I don't favor Gryffindors, do I?" she asked, lacing worry into her voice. "I try to be as fair as I can. Do you think I'm too easy on the Gryffindors?"

"No, you're fine, 'Mione," Ron said. "You take plenty of points. Remember the last time when Harry and I snuck out of the dorm to prank the Slytherins, but you and Mal…"

"Ronald!" Ginny said sharply from her seat.

Hermione frowned. She definitely did not remember ever taking points from Harry and Ron. When had that happened? She was sure Ron had been about to say "Malfoy" when Ginny had cut him off. Then, realizing her predicament, she quickly rearranged her features, but her friends had already seen her look of puzzlement. Might as well use the situation to her advantage. "I don't remember that," she said, pursing her lips. "When did that happen?"

"You _moron,_" Hermione thought she heard Ginny hissing at Ron as his ears turned bright red.

"Last November," Harry quickly jumped in. "You need to stop studying so much, Hermione. It's beginning to affect your memory."

She felt a swell of rage. He was trying to pass this off as _her_ fault! "No, I don't think it's that," she said, carefully weighing her words. "I've been forgetting lots of stuff lately. It's weird. I…I'm having a hard time remembering stuff from the holidays."

The panicked looks in her friends' eyes was enough evidence to overwhelmingly prove Malfoy's point. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about it, 'Mione," Harry replied stiffly. "It's probably nothing at all."

She would have loved to continue; she enjoyed watching them squirm, but if she wished to discover anything at all, it was probably best to do it more subtly. "You're probably right," she sighed. "I haven't been getting much sleep, either; I've been so busy."

She didn't miss the expressions of extreme relief that fleeted across friends' faces before Harry said, "Right. You need to take care of yourself better."

Hermione forced a smile as she rose from her seat. "What would I do without you guys? You're such good friends. I'll go to bed earlier tonight, but first I've got to go have a chat with Parvati about our Charms project. I'll see you lot in the morning, OK?"

She couldn't help but think that Harry and Ron looked awfully guilty as they bid her a good night. They were Gryffindors, though; they'd be out of character if they didn't wear their emotions on their sleeves.

Hermione threaded her way through the crowd and dropped into the empty seat next to Lavender. Instantly both girls bent their heads close. "What did they say?" Lavender whispered.

"Don't be so obvious," Hermione whispered angrily. "Pull out a book, pretend like we're discussing something school-related. They're probably watching me."

Obediently, both girls pulled out books and parchment, then turned to look expectantly at Hermione. "We saw their faces," Parvati confided. "There's definitely something going on."

Hermione nodded. "I know that for sure," she said softly. "I started talking about the way I'm forgetting things, and they freaked out."

"And Malfoy?" Parvati pressed. "What'd he say?"

Hermione blushed a little as she recounted the story of how she'd yelled at him and tried to force him to confess. "But he doesn't remember anything either," she finally finished.

"He _doesn't_?" Lavender exclaimed.

"Ssssshhhh," Hermione hissed. "Someone could be listening."

Both girls looked properly chastened. "Sorry, 'Mione," Lavender said meekly. "So Malfoy doesn't remember anything either?"

"He thinks we were both Obliviated," Hermione explained. "We're meeting tomorrow night to search for a reversal in the library."

As Lavender launched into another question, Hermione realised that she'd been sitting there for a good while. Harry and Ron were beginning to shoot her strange glances.

"I've got to go," she said apologetically, stopping Lavender mid-sentence. "But Harry and Ron are looking this way. They'll be wondering what I'm talking to you lot about for so long."

"Bloody hell, they're like Nazis," Lavender muttered and Hermione hid a smile behind her hand.

"Not quite that bad, but pretty close," she said as Parvati looked confused. "I'll see you two tomorrow, OK?"

"Sure. You'll take care of yourself?" Parvati asked anxiously.

Hermione frowned. "Don't I always?"

"Just make sure you take the anti-Morning Sickness potion before you go to bed and don't stay up too late studying," Parvati instructed. "You've got the baby to think about, you know."

"Right. The baby," Hermione mumbled. It was all still so surreal—the pregnancy, the discovery of memory loss, the identity of the father revealed…

"…you should go now; they're still looking this direction." Lavender's voice cut through her thoughts.

Hermione nodded. "Right. Night, you two. Try and get a bit of actual studying done."

Lavender rolled her eyes as she extracted a bottle of bright red nail polish from her bag. "Sure, sure. Anything to make you happy. Now scoot, before they get too suspicious."

* * *

_Later that Evening_

The fire burned low in the stone fireplace; the flames danced, casting eerie shadows about the nearly deserted staff room. Minerva McGonagall sat alone in the stiff high-backed chair closest to the fire. Her hands were uncharacteristically twisting her robes as she stared unseeingly into the fire.

A noise behind her alerted her to the fact that she was not alone. Someone had entered the room. She didn't move as the person drew close, stopping a few feet away. "Minerva, I need a word."

"What is it, Poppy?" said Minerva stiffly, not looking up.

Poppy Pomfrey held her ground. "I want to know why I was not allowed to give the Granger girl that test."

Minerva had been expecting the question, but it did not make it any easier for her to formulate a response. After a moment, she said, "I have told you before, I am not at liberty to discuss…"

A resounding slap startled her; Minerva whirled around to find that the usually good-natured nurse had brought her hand down hard onto the wooden surface of the nearby table. Her face was red, her mouth, a thin, hard line. "I deserve to know!" she hissed angrily.

Minerva quickly rose to her full height. "You would do well to remember that it was not I who decided that you were to be left in the dark."

The younger woman seethed. "Was it the headmaster?" she spat.

Minerva didn't reply.

"Sometimes I think he's nothing more than a bumbling idiot," muttered Poppy.

Sometimes, Minerva felt the same way, but her voice was cold as she said, "There are things going on here that you cannot fully understand, Poppy."

"I don't understand how giving the girl a simple test could hurt…" Poppy began.

"You swore when you took your Healer vows that you would do no harm," Minerva said flatly. "Telling the girl who the father of her child is would do more harm than good, let me assure you."

"But why…"

"That is all you need to know," Minerva folded her arms and set her jaw. "Good night."

The school nurse glared at her for a moment before storming to the door. She paused, however, for one last word. "I _will_ find out, _Minerva,_" she hissed.

"I have no doubt that you will _try_," Minerva muttered, looking away.

Poppy lingered in the doorway only a moment more before departing with a snort of anger. Minerva stared into the fire as the door clicked shut, then said in a louder voice, "You can come out, now, Severus."

The Potions master stepped out of the shadows. "You never cease to surprise me, Minerva," he said dryly.

"You Slytherins are not the only people who pay close attention to their surroundings," the Head of Gryffindor replied coolly. "I saw you slip in the door while she was ranting. You heard our discussion, then."

He nodded shortly. "I heard. Tea or coffee?"

"Tea," she said, quickly hiding her surprise. It was well known that Severus was always partial to a good cup of coffee or tea, but he had never offered to bring _her_ a cup before. Perhaps, Minerva mused, he did have a heart after all. They were cautious friends; of course, to the others they must never present an affable relationship, but in the solitude, she had spent many pleasurable evenings fighting with Severus over a wide variety of topics. It was, after all, very difficult to find an issue that they _did_ agree on. Anyways, she was pretty certain that he knew her well enough to tell when she was upset; tonight was definitely one of those nights.

"Sugar and milk?"

"Just milk," Minerva sighed, and a second later she gratefully accepted the steaming cup he offered her. She took a long draught and closed her eyes, relishing the comfort of the hot liquid. The conjured tea was never quite as good as freshly made tea, but that mattered little now.

Severus settled into the seat across from her and carefully sipped his black coffee before setting the mug on the side table. "I don't understand why you're so upset about this anyway," he said suddenly, predictably jumping right to the pressing issue. "Pomfrey is a fool; she is more words than action. You have nothing to fear of her discovering your secret."

"Our secret," Minerva corrected, growing irritated. "And it's not Pomfrey I'm worried about!"

There was a long silence as Severus contemplated her outburst. Minerva tightened her jaw, willing herself not to display the anger and emotion raging within. If there was one thing Severus was good at, it was reading people. Not that he would ever be accused of being sensitive; he was just naturally good at looking at a person and knowing exactly what was going on. Minerva was pretty sure that among his colleagues, she was the only one who knew this; he was good at hiding this particular skill underneath layers of critical, sarcastic comments that most people would never see through.

Severus took another draught of his coffee and she looked over, desperate for some hint of what was going on behind those dark, emotionless eyes. She learned nothing, however; his expression was veiled by his shoulder-length, stringy black hair that fell in clumps around his face.

When he finally spoke, she was not expecting it. "Do you disagree with Dumbledore's decision?"

"Do you?" she challenged.

Snape regarded her coolly. "We are not discussing my feelings regarding the Headmaster's decisions," he replied bitterly. "It is not my place to disagree…"

"It is certainly not my place either," Minerva snapped, finally losing her temper. "But have you ever considered that he might be _wrong_, Severus? That he is not as omnipotent and all-knowing as we all thought? That he might be a _man_ and make mistakes?"

One eyebrow twitched. "Do you honestly believe he made a mistake in Obliviating Mister Malfoy and Miss Granger?" Severus inquired.

"I'm not saying that," Minerva hissed. "All I'm saying is that I think we should have taken more time to consider our options."

"There were no other options," he said darkly. "The complications of the situation…"

"She knows something," Minerva said impulsively, forgetting entirely about her fast-cooling tea on the table.

This merited a reaction from the usually stalwart Potions master. Two eyebrows shot up this time, and he leaned forward in his seat. "It's impossible."

Losing her patience, Minerva snapped, "You and I both know that even the most complicated and advanced Obliviation methods and Memory Modification charms leave gaps when performed on a person's memories stretching over a period of weeks or months."

"We were thorough," Severus insisted, shaking his head slowly.

"We were," Minerva agreed. "But don't you think, Severus, that when she starts realizing that she has huge gaps in her memory she will start to ask questions?"

"You are being nonsensical," Severus said coldly. "Even if she does start asking questions about the father of her child in relation to her memory loss, there is no way she would ever arrive at the conclusion that the father is Draco Malfoy. Memory charms are permanent, Minerva, or had you forgotten?"

What he was saying made sense, but she could not shake off the underlying feeling that Hermione Granger would not let this rest until everything was out in the open. "She's smart," Minerva said stubbornly. "Smarter than any other student, I daresay, to enter this school in a decade or more. She suspects something, especially after Pomfrey refused to give her the test."

"You put too much trust in a student, and a Gryffindor no less," Severus snapped, glaring at her.

She would not allow herself to be lowered to his level of insults. "And you put too much trust in the Headmaster," Minerva said, resisting the urge to throw in a demeaning remark regarding his House.

"Shall we draw up a wager?" Severus said dryly.

"I'd win," Minerva insisted, allowing just a hint of a smile to pull at the edge of her mouth before she sobered again. "I…I just have a bad feeling about all of this, Severus," she confided, lowering her voice. "No good will come of hiding the truth. Somehow, lies are always uncovered in the end."


	6. A Bit of Perspective

As Draco Malfoy climbed the stairs to the Great Hall for breakfast the next morning, he scowled at the people who passed, Slytherins and others alike. The night had been long; he'd been too agitated to sleep much at all and hadn't had any Dreamless Sleep potion on hand, though he usually kept a small stock of the most useful ones in his room, courtesy of his parents. But he wasn't sure if he would have been able to get a good rest even with the potion--Granger's revelation kept echoing in his mind: _"I'm pregnant… Malfoy, what are we going to do now?"_

At first, he'd thought she was out of her mind. Surely none of it was possible; it was ridiculous to think that he could have gotten her pregnant under _any_ conceivable circumstance, and then be obliviated by only god knew who. She couldn't be very far along—a month or two at the most. He thought she'd said something about it being closer to a month, which would mean that she'd been knocked up over Christmas holidays. That crossed him off the list, since he had most definitely spent the break at his parents' house, even if he didn't remember the details. His mother had just sent him a letter two days prior, full of juicy gossip, admonishments, and her regrets that he wouldn't be home again until summer, as she, possibly conveniently, was vacationing in France for four weeks that happened to encompass Easter hols. She had perhaps over-emphasized her feelings of longing and sadness that the "enjoyable days of Christmas holidays" were now over.

Yes, he'd definitely spent the break at Malfoy Manor, which left no possible room for any interaction between himself and Granger. But as Granger had continued, presenting the evidence in that meticulously reasonable way of hers, doubt had risen in his mind. As he tried to remember specific events and failed miserably, his suspicion of Obliviation or memory modification rose.

He had held on vainly to the hope that her potions and spells had been faulty. Immediately after his chat with Granger the previous night, he'd headed straight to the library, using his Head Boy privileges to get late night access to the books. He'd found her Sori Sori potion along with complete instructions for the other potion and spells necessary to complete the parentage revealing procedure she had spoken of. He was not surprised to find that the potions were particularly difficult ones, and the procedure complex as well; Granger was definitely equal to the task as she had proved over and over again for years. In fact, were it not for Snape's partiality to Slytherins, he was sure she'd have the highest Potions marks of anyone in the school.

Draco had no doubt that Granger could have indeed made the potion, but he clung to the hope that in her stunned state of mind, perhaps she had made an error. In any case, he was determined to repeat the procedure once he had found time to make the potions himself.

He set his jaw angrily as he stalked down another corridor. When he rounded the corner, he almost ran head on into Gregory Goyle at a run. "Malfoy," the other boy panted. "I've been looking for you everywhere. Some of us got this Gryffindor girl cornered a couple halls over and we're roughing her up a bit. Thought you might want to help."

"Bugger off," Draco growled, surprising both of them.

Goyle blinked stupidly. "I said, there's a girl cornered…"

"I heard you the first time," Draco snapped.

The other boy gaped at him; his tiny brain must be working overtime to figure out why Draco was suddenly showing such a disinterest in regular Slytherin activities. "It means I'm not coming," Draco said slowly so Goyle could understand him. Then he brushed pointedly past Goyle, leaving him standing alone in the corner, rubbing his head.

As Draco entered the Great Hall, he automatically scanned the room. His eyes narrowed as he spotted Granger sitting with her friends. She looked up, almost as if she had felt his gaze, and met his eyes only long enough to send him a warning glance. Draco immediately averted his gaze, knowing that even the briefest eye contact would be noticed by Potter and Weasley, her personal bodyguards. As he stalked toward the Slytherin table, he was unnerved to find Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil staring at him from their isolated seats at the far end of the table. Immediately they were joined by Patil's Ravenclaw twin, and the trio ducked their heads and began whispering, occasionally throwing him meaningful glances.

Draco felt a surge of anger and glared at them. Damnit, Granger had told the worst gossipers in the entire school. By noon, _everyone_ would know! She had no right to go spilling her darkest secret to those large-mouthed dunderheads. It was no longer _her _secret; now, it was _their_ secret. He glanced back at the Head Girl, but she was pointedly ignoring him, her face tense as she attempted to laugh at one of Weasel's pathetic jokes. Brown and the Patil twins were still whispering furiously, and Draco forced himself to walk stiffly to an open seat next to Zabini rather than stomping over and hexing their faces purple.

Blaise looked up as Draco lowered himself onto the bench. "Rough night, mate?"

"You have no idea," Draco mumbled, slumping down in his seat in a vain attempt to hide himself from Lavender and the Patil twins, who were still looking in his direction.

Blaise frowned; evidently he hadn't missed the Gryffindor girls' looks. "Did all three develop a crush on you at once?" he asked.

Draco rubbed his temples. "I wish," he muttered. Then to Blaise's raised eyebrow, "You don't want to know."

Fortunately, his friend knew better than to press him for more information, but a crease in Blaise's forehead let Draco know that they weren't finished with that particular topic.

Draco turned back to his meal. The eggs looked particularly disgusting, so he passed them for a slice of buttered toast, silently wishing for the fine food served at Malfoy Manor. Lucius and Narcissa kept specially picked French house elves to cook their food.

"So," said Blaise conversationally, "what's going on with you and Granger?"

Draco choked; his toast almost ended up on his plate again, and Blaise had to thump him on the back a few times before he could breathe. A long swig of Pumpkin juice later, Draco turned incredulously to his friend. "What did you say?"

Blaise shrugged. "I only asked what was up with you and Granger," he said, lowering his voice a little.

Draco stared. He'd hoped he'd heard wrong the first time. _Blaise_ knew? Had Granger told him? Maybe it was those sniveling Gryffindor gossips. But that was impossible—he couldn't know.

"Nothing," he said, trying to sound casual. "Why do you ask?"

Blaise glanced sideways to make sure no one was listening. "Well, you know, you two were spending an awful lot of time together last semester, and now, you hardly look at her. I just figured you had a row."

Draco blinked. Him and Granger? Spending time together? He didn't remember any of it. "Are you sure?" he blurted out before he could stop, then mentally slapped himself for being so obvious.

"You don't have to lie," Blaise said reproachfully. "I know about you two. I covered for you loads of times last semester, remember?"

Draco stared at his friend incredulously. Then he realised how he must look. "Right," he said vaguely. "Yeah, a row. We just had a row. Nothing serious."

"Nothing serious," Blaise exclaimed. "You two were practically best mates!"

"Not anymore," Draco said flatly, mentally repulsed at the idea that he and Granger would _ever _be considered more than unfortunate acquaintances. "You know, I just remembered some more homework I need to work on." He rolled up a muffin into a napkin and tucked it into his pocket. "I'll see you later, OK?"

With that, he stood and stalked out of the Great Hall, leaving Blaise staring after him, an odd expression on his face.

* * *

"You're late," Draco said coldly as Granger appeared by the table where he had thrown his bag, her arms loaded with a stack of heavy books.

"Sorry," she apologized, her face flushed as she set the books down and dropped heavily into a chair. "I was getting these and ran into Harry and Ron over there…had to make up stuff about an extra credit project for McGonagall…"

But Draco had already leaned forward worriedly. "Potter and Weasley? Here?"

"Oh, they left," she reassured him. "I think they were going to practice Quidditch. They won't be back, I promise."

"That's reassuring," he said disbelievingly.

She sighed. "I've spent practically every day for the last seven years with those two, and you don't think I can predict them."

"I don't think you can predict them _lately_," he corrected.

There was a long moment of awkward silence. Then Granger rubbed her temples with both fingers and closed her eyes, as if trying to block something out.

"Something wrong?" Draco asked more out of politeness rather than concern. She shook her head quickly. Too quickly, he observed, raising an eyebrow at her.

Granger sighed. "I've been having funny…flashes, I guess," she confessed. "It's really strange. I'll be going about my business and suddenly I'll have a scene or conversation flit through my head distantly… but I have no recollection of the events ever happening."

Draco forgot about telling her off for blabbing to Lavender and the Patil twins. "I think your memory might be returning," he said, watching her reaction carefully. He had the impulse to tell her of her about Blaise's startling revelation that morning, but felt that it would be a mistake. She would automatically assume that he had first became friends with her, then played her, and in the end, had in fact raped her. Which was impossible and ridiculous.

Besides that, he definitely needed to do some more investigating before even thinking of telling her.

She looked delighted and terrified at the same time. "But that's absurd," she reasoned. "I thought regaining memories after the Obliviation spell was impossible."

He frowned. "I thought so too. Maybe there's something in one of those books you're hoarding."

"Sorry," said Granger, turning red and shoving a stack at him. "Dig in. I have a feeling it'll be quite some time before we happen upon anything that will be beneficial."

Silently, Draco agreed. He'd read a number of books in the Hogwarts library, and none had ever come close to stating that Obliviation was reversible.

He pulled the first book off the stack closer and opened it, following Granger's example. He bent his head and was about to delve into the contents when Granger said briskly, "Hang on, Malfoy, what are we here for?"

"Working on an Ancient Runes project," he replied automatically.

"And what's the project about?" she pressed.

" Translations of Syrian and Persian manuscripts," he said.

"And if Ron or Harry or Ginny see?"

"I'll pull my wand out and spit out some nasty remarks about Gryffindors in general and you'll go all weepy and beg them not to kill me and spit out lies about the project being assigned and hating my guts and such."

"That last part wouldn't be a lie," Granger muttered, rising from her chair and departing for the section with books on codes and languages.

When she finally got back, carting enough books on Persian and Syrian to hide the ones on charms and spell damage, Draco had remembered his prior question and rounded on her as soon as she took a seat across from him. "What the bloody hell did you have to go and tell Parvati and Lavender for?" he demanded angrily.

Granger looked surprised, then her expression turned cold. "I don't have to explain myself to you," she said hotly.

"You have no right to tell people," he began, but she jumped in, her face livid.

"And you had no right to rape me! Don't you dare go telling me whom I can tell and whom I can't…"

"I did not…" Draco started, then stopped. They'd get nowhere like this—not with her acting like a bleeding seven year old. "Listen, Granger," he said reasonably, setting down his book. "You don't know that. All I wanted to know was why you'd told those silly gossiping girls, and if you really don't want to tell me, I'll start a rumour that you're pregnant and that Potter is the father; if you even try telling the truth, no one will believe you, will they?"

She stared, her mouth open in fury. She seemed to realise, though, that he pretty much had her beat in this one. "Lavender and Parvati were the ones who dragged me to Pomfrey after they found me throwing up in the bathroom one morning," Granger finally said, glaring at him. "Pomfrey diagnosed me as pregnant and I swore those two to silence, save for the exception that Parvati would be allowed to tell her twin sister."

"They'll tell the whole bloody school!"

"And that would bother you?" she snapped. "_I'm_ the one who's pregnant; _I'm _the victim here! You'd be hailed as the Slytherin king for managing to get pious Granger into bed with you!"

"You know as well as I do that if the news spreads, it'll eventually get back to the teachers," he snarled. "I don't fancy being obliviated again if there _is_ in fact something so large being kept from us that they had to Obliviate us to keep us from being a liability."

"I don't want to be obliviated again either," she started angrily, but at that moment there came a loud Sssshing noise, and Granger jumped a little.

"Do I have to throw both the Head Boy and Head Girl out of the library to maintain order?" Madame Pince threatened.

Meekly, they shook their heads. "Sorry," Granger said humbly. "I—we—promise to keep it down."

With a disbelieving glare, Madame Pince stalked away, throwing suspicious glances behind her as she went. As soon as she was out of sight, Draco leaned close. "Listen, Granger, I didn't _ask_ for this…"

"Neither did I," she hissed. "But I am making the best of a less than desirable situation. I suggest you do the same."

He opened his mouth to reply, then realised that he had nothing to say to that. Marveling a little that Granger had done the impossible—rendered a _Malfoy_ speechless—Draco contented himself with sulkily pulling a book towards him and opening it randomly. He stared unseeingly at the page for several minutes before Granger huffed. "Malfoy, you might try turning the book right side up, for one."

Draco reddened instantly and glared at her as he righted the book. "Pay attention to your own reading," he growled. She merely shrugged, an annoying smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.

He turned his attention back to the book: _Tryden's__ Theories on Mind Alteration. _Finding the table of contents, he located the chapter on Obliviation spells and turned to it.

They didn't speak again until at last Granger checked her watch and stood to gather her things. Draco watched her out of the corner of his eye. "Leaving so soon?"

"It's nearly nine," she said matter-of-factly. "Did you find anything?"

He frowned at his book. "No."

"Me neither," she sighed. "Tomorrow night, same time, same place?"

"Make it Thursday," said Draco. "I've got Quidditch practice."

"I _won't _look forward to it," said Granger. With that parting comment, she flounced—_flounced—_out of the library.

He watched her go with narrowed eyes, and a bit of fresh perspective.


	7. Alternate Options

"Hermione? Hermione!" 

"Go 'way."

"Where'd you put the extra potions?"

"Wha'?"

"The potions. Sori Sori and the Axis potions? You know, from the _test_?"

Hermione merely grunted and burrowed her way deeper under the blankets and pillows.

The unwanted visitor, however, was persistent. "Don't try pulling that 'I'm not awake' stunt on me," a girl's voice warned. "Just tell me where you put the Potions and I'll get them for myself."

Resignedly, Hermione pushed herself up and blinked the sleep out of her eyes. Slowly, Padma Patil wearing her extra set of Gryffindor robes came into focus. "Wha' are you doing here so early?" Hermione asked, staring stupidly at her friend.

"The potions," Padma said impatiently. "Don't tell me you threw the rest away."

"No, they're in my trunk," Hermione said. "But why do you need them?"

"A couple of girls—I'll let them remain anonymous—would like to conduct the test without getting Pomfrey involved," Padma said quickly. Perhaps too quickly. 

"Sure. Fine. Whatever," Hermione groaned. "Just leave me be."

Padma clicked her tongue. "It's nearly nine."

"WHAT?" With a start, she sat straight up in bed, staring incredulously at the other girl.

"Did you not get any sleep at all last night?" Padma inquired. 

"A little," Hermione mumbled, stumbling out of bed and haphazardly throwing on a school uniform. "I was…preoccupied."

"I'm sorry," Padma said sympathetically, watching as Hermione tugged a brush through her unruly hair and tied it back with a ribbon. "If you want, I can tell McGonagall you're not feeling well…"

"No, I'll come to class," Hermione sighed. It felt as if every bone in her body was protesting as she slowly lifted her bag onto her shoulder. Then she blinked at Padma. "What are you here for?"

"The potions," said Padma, rolling her eyes. "Didn't you hear anything I said?"

"Oh, right…" Hermione mumbled. "Who thinks they're pregnant?"

"I didn't say. They'd like me to keep it a secret," Padma said evasively.

"I'm gonna be late to class. Just get the potions out of my trunk, alright?"

"No problem," said Padma as Hermione exited the room in too much of a hurry to see the smug look on Ravenclaw's face.

* * *

She was positive the day would never end. Classes dragged on and on and the teachers asked questions she didn't know the answers too. Her head hurt and her morning sickness potion had run out leaving her nauseated and unable to hold down anything but liquids. At last, it was Charms, her last class of the day; all Hermione wanted to do was stumble back to her dorm and curl up on her bed.

"Hermione. Hermione, wake up!"

Hermione blinked. "What?"

Harry and Ron were looking at her, odd expressions on their faces. "You were completely blanked out there," said Ron, furrowing his eyebrows. "Is everything alright?"

"I'm fine," she said half-heartedly.

"No, you aren't. You just animated the miniature broomstick to bounce up and down rather than fly," said Harry, staring at her incredulously. "Something's wrong."

She mentally groaned. "Bad night, that's all. I had a lot on my mind, and I feel like dung."

"We should get you to Madame Pom—" began Ron, but she quickly cut him off.

"No, no, I'll make it till the end of class," she insisted. The last thing she wanted was for the two boys to haul her up to Madame Pomfrey, especially since she already knew what the school nurse would say. She absolutely could not have Harry and Ron going anywhere near the Hospital Wing—one step closer to discovering her secret. If she could convince them that she'd go after class, they wouldn't have to accompany her because of Quidditch Practice.

"I dunno," said Ron reluctantly. "Your colour isn't too good."

Hermione widened her eyes dramatically. "But I could _never_ skip class!"

The boys snickered. "That's more like you," commented Harry. And fortunately enough, they both dropped the subject after Hermione promised to head straight up to the Hospital Wing after class.

Hermione took her time climbing the long staircases after Charms let out. She even stopped to put a Feather-Light charm on her bag, sighing in relief when the strap was no longer cutting painfully into her shoulder. Her headache hadn't gotten any better, and her stomach was still roiling and lurching with every step. The stairs ahead began to spin, so she stopped to catch her breath, doubling over in a vain attempt to regain her balance.

Only a few moments later, though, she felt her knees buckle, and she slumped heavily against the stone wall. _Oh, crap… _Her vision was fading in and out, and she wondered what on earth was happening to her…

And then, in the distance, she heard her name being called harshly. "Granger! Granger, damnit, answer me!"

Another voice echoed in the stairwell. "What happened?"

"I don't know; slap her cheeks."

"You know I wouldn't touch her if she weren't your friend."

"My…my _friend? _Have you lost your mind?"

"I think you've lost yours. It must have been some row you had…."

"Catch her! She's slipping!"

Then a strong pair of arms were encircling her shoulders, pushing her back, as the voice kept calling her name…she wanted to answer, but she was so sleepy…her eyes fluttered open for just a second to see a pair of dark, concerned eyes peering at her.

Then, the other person said, "Take her to the Hospital Wing for me."

"Why…"

"I can't tell you why! You just have to believe me that if I showed up with Hermione Granger all hell would break loose. You have to take her there, and leave my name out of it."

"What is going on?"

"I…I can't tell you…just take her there, OK? She doesn't look well."

A long pause. "Fine, then. But only this once, Malfoy!"

And then, the blackness took over.

* * *

When she opened her eyes, she was staring at a very white ceiling. Was she in the hospital wing? How had she gotten here? How _long_ had she been here?

She bolted upright; the Hospital Wing looked empty. She was still fully clothed and had only been lying on the top of the covers, evidence that she hadn't spent an entire night here. By the bedside was a whole vial of Morning Sickness Potion, as well as some general nutrition supplements. 

Perhaps she could take the potion and leave, before Madame Pomfrey returned. If she moved quickly, she'd have a chance at escaping…. Quietly, Hermione slipped out of bed and landed silently on the floor. She scooped up the vial of Morning Sickness Potion and had almost made it to the door when…

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione froze, then turned guiltily, feeling as if she'd just been caught in the act of some heinous crime. The formidable school nurse was standing in the door of her office, arms crossed over her ample chest, her face stern. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Back to my dorm?" Hermione offered.

Obviously, Madame Pomfrey didn't approve with that particular choice, because she marched Hermione into her office and proceeded in giving her a lecture about responsibility in caring for both herself and the child. Supposedly the Morning Sickness combined with low blood sugar and low sleep had caused her "episode" earlier that afternoon, and Hermione was only allowed to leave after promising to take care of herself and return for weekly checkups. "And believe me, Miss Granger, if I catch you being carried in here again by Zabini or anyone else I'll keep you here for a week…"

"Hang on," interrupted Hermione. "_Zabini_ brought me in?"

The nurse sniffed disdainfully. "He said he found you collapsed on a stairway. On a _stairway,_ Miss Granger!"

Hermione could feel her mind working overtime. Why would _Zabini_ of all people bring her to the hospital wing? Slytherins never, ever did anything without an alternate reason. What reason would he have to help her? He could have just as easily called a teacher or just left her there. Or perhaps…perhaps someone had told him to bring her up…but who? Surely not Malfoy—but he _was_ friends with Zabini, and if Malfoy felt any type of responsibility to her or the child she carried, it would make sense that he'd help her. He probably hadn't wanted to be seen with her—if one of the professors had seen, it would have raised questions as to their "Obliviated" state that neither wanted to answer. 

"One more thing, Miss Granger," called Madame Pomfrey as Hermione was almost to the door, clutching several potions. She stopped and turned expectantly. The school nurse held out a bundle of parchments. 

"What's this?" Hermione said blankly.

Madame Pomfrey looked suddenly uncomfortable. "Minerva wanted me to give this to you to read. It's what you could call an—_alternative_—option, and your Head of House suggests that I recommend this to you," she said stiffly.

"OK," said Hermione, still not understanding. She took the papers. "I'll look them over, I guess."

Madame Pomfrey was still looking at her, an unreadable expression on her face. "I trust you'll make the correct decision. Good night."

* * *

"You're late," drawled the Slytherin as Hermione stomped into the library the following evening, but for once, she didn't even hear him. She slammed her books down onto the chair and tossed several parchments at Malfoy. 

"Look at that," she raged. "McGonagall wants me to choose an _alternative action_ rather than having this baby." Malfoy took the paper from her and quickly scanned it as she continued. "It's basically a nice word for murder!"

"Abortive potions and spells," Malfoy read aloud, "vary in their complexity and successfulness, but most have a 99.9 success rate on the average witch with little or no personal side effects." He looked up, his face blank. "So?"

"She's pushing me to get rid of the baby," Hermione cried. "My own Head of House is encouraging an abortion! And what's worse, if they are indeed so set on my aborting this baby, I wouldn't be surprised that if I outright refuse, they might do something intentionally to make sure I can't carry it to full term…"

"And you're refusing to abort?" he asked, looking incredulous. What was wrong with him? Had everyone gone mad?

"Of course I'm refusing!"

"Why?"

She stared at him. "Why?"

"I think the question was simple enough, Granger," said Malfoy coldly, and she snapped her jaw closed. 

"I understood your question," she snarled, "though I don't understand why I even need to _tell_ you why I'd want to keep another human alive, especially one who's my own flesh and blood…"

"You don't understand the situation properly," he said, and his gaze was frigid. She withdrew a little, watching him with narrowed eyes. "Granger, think about it for just a moment," Malfoy continued, leaning forward. "You graduate from school. A few months later you deliver an infant, who you're automatically accountable for. Your career plans are destroyed. You have no money and nowhere to stay, especially after the Weasleys and Potter find out who the father is."

She opened her mouth to protest, but Malfoy stopped her. "Let me finish," he commanded, and she fell silent. "As of last December, there is now a Malfoy heir inside you. Do you have any idea what the repercussions of this could have on my family and my future? What decent Pureblood girl would marry me if she knew that there was already a firstborn child out there bound by law to inherit at least a portion of the Malfoy estate when I die?"

"Is that all you care about? Your _marriage_ opportunities?" Hermione hissed. 

"I was just stating facts."

"Well, let me tell you some facts," said Hermione, fixing him with a glare that she hoped said, _Don't interrupt me_. "Fact: When my parents died, they left me everything. They were dentists, and fairly well off. I have plenty of money, enough, in fact, to keep me comfortable for many years without lifting a finger."

Malfoy looked surprised, and inside she gloated. But she knew his surprise was twofold; the raised eyebrow let her know exactly what he was wondering—how she could be so calloused to her parents' death. She had seen the same reaction on dozens of other students who still tiptoed around her as if she was a porcelain doll prone to shatter any moment. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Hermione continued.

"Fact: As for your marriage life, I don't give a damn." His other eyebrow joined the first in the "raised" position. "If it's money you're concerned about, I won't demand it. I can take care of myself. As for your heir, I'm sorry, it couldn't be helped, but if you want me to abort the baby to ease your complicated life, it's not going to happen. And Malfoy…" Hermione lowered her voice to a hiss. "If you even think of laying a finger on my baby or if the devious thought even crosses your mind of insisting that I abort, think again, because here's another fact for you: No matter how rich you are, the law always swings to the side of the pregnant mother in abortion lawsuits. You cannot demand an abortion as the father. I've read about it."

"Oh, yes, because that's your solution to every problem in life," he sneered. "Find it in a book."

"I don't strut around acting as if I was the alpha and the omega, all-knowing and egotistical," she retorted angrily. "You…"

But he suddenly shushed her. "Madame Pince."

Hermione tightened her lips into a pinched, thin line. When at last Draco gave her the "all clear," she rose quickly, told him stiffly that she was going to get some books, and stalked off to the section on spell damage.

When she finally returned, she had calmed herself enough to feel a little embarrassed for the way she'd lost her temper. Malfoy had his nose in a large volume and seemed to be ignoring her pointedly. Setting her stack down next to her seat, she slipped into the chair and said quietly, "Thank you."

He obviously hadn't been expecting that. "What for?" he said, jerking his head up and looking confused.

"For getting me to the hospital wing."

"That was Zabini."

"But you told him to."

"You don't know that."

"Zabini wouldn't have helped me without an ulterior motive. You must have been there; if it was someone else who'd convinced him to help me, he probably wouldn't have gone bragging to you that he'd just levitated a Muggle-born to the hospital wing, and I didn't tell you that it was Zabini who took me to there--that you stated on your own," Hermione said triumphantly, confident in her sound logic. "Besides, you two are best friends."

He looked impressed for just a moment, then his cold mask slipped back into place. "You owe me one now, Granger."

His comment unexplainably stuck Hermione as funny—though she couldn't figure out why—and she couldn't hold back the giggle that slipped out of her mouth. It was instantly replaced with a surprised expression, though, as another scene flashed through her mind—sitting at a similar table in the library with him, laughing softly at a joke… 

But this time, when she shook her head to clear it and looked over at him, he was staring at her, the same nonplussed expression on his finely-chiseled features. Hermione did a double take. "You saw it too?"

The tinniest of nods. "What is it?" he murmured.

"Memories; that's what you said anyway," she said. "I don't know what's triggering them—we need to find something on what's going on…but none of these books seem to have anything useful in them."

"If you'd stop your incessant chattering, perhaps we'd actually get some studying _done_," snarled Draco, but she could tell he was trying to cover up his shock from the flash of memory. Rather than retaliate, she merely inclined her head and began pouring over the book in front of her. 

The time passed quickly, with minimal verbal exchanges, but by the time she left, she had still found nothing related to their condition. "Rubbish," she muttered, slamming still another book closed. "They all say that Memory Charms are irreversible, but that can't be right—we're both seeing flashes now…that can't be merely coincidence or the result of a large hit on the head…"

"Cut to the point, Granger," Malfoy said irritably. "Did you, or did you not, find anything of use?"

She shook her head and sighed. "No."

"Then you're wasting my time."

To tired to think of a good comeback, she silently gathered her things. "Tomorrow night?"

"Saturday afternoon. Three."

Hermione nodded wearily. "I'll be there."

* * *

Alone in his study, Severus Snape sat at the wide oak desk behind stacks of Potions essays. A fine black quill lay untouched at his elbow, as well as a bottle of thick black ink. The shadows fell over him; the cold draft that was ever present in the dungeons threatened to extinguish the candles which were already burning low, and the fire in the grate crackled and popped. It had been a rather long day; usually, he enjoyed nothing better than a warm cup of coffee in the evenings as he wrote his criticisms on the students' papers in impeccable penmanship, but tonight, not even that could interest him.

The matter troubling him had, for once, nothing to do with the Death Eaters or the whole sodding spy business. Tonight, the faces of two particular seventh-year students kept pressing into his mind. 

His conversation with Minerva had deeply troubled him. She had accused him of being unobservant. She was sure that Miss Granger knew something. She had too much faith in Gryffindors.

Or so he had thought. 

The topic they'd discussed had never left his mind, but today something had occurred in Advanced Potions that merited his concern. Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy had exchanged a glance. 

Perhaps to most, the glance would mean nothing, but Severus Snape knew differently. Once in the lecture, he'd mentioned something about the potion they were learning having been used in the war with Grindewald to automatically scramble messages that were liable to fall into enemy hands. In that instant, Granger and Malfoy had shared a look for only the briefest of moments. Yet, Severus Snape was positive it was more than a coincidence. 

Rarely did he go against Dumbledore, but this time, Severus was completely positive wrong had been done against the two seventh-years. 

He fingered the two vials sitting on the edge of his desk. That Ravenclaw twin had dropped them off earlier for the extra credit he offered any student who could make a potion more advanced than anything in the textbooks required of them, and Padma Patil, it seemed, had risen to the challenge.

He knew perfectly well what test Sori Sori and Axis potions were used for. It wasn't hard to guess that Miss Granger, stubborn as a mule, had not let her case rest when Pomfrey had refused to give her the test. So she and Miss Patil had made the potions and performed the test; doubtless both knew the truth now, and it seemed that Draco did as well.

Now, the only question remaining was what to do.

Defying Dumbledore would have repercussions that he wasn't sure he wanted to deal with. Telling Dumbledore would earn him the wrath of Minerva McGonagall. Telling _her _would immediately evoke her meddling which, he'd learned, often did more harm than good. He knew that she wouldn't tell Dumbledore unless she felt the two were in danger, but if she knew the truth, Dumbledore could find out with just a brush of legilimency at an opportune time. And Severus knew well that the Headmaster _would_ use legilimency if he suspected treachery among his staff.

Perhaps staying silent and destroying the evidence would be best. 

If Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy were truly intelligent enough to unravel the mystery that Dumbledore himself had concealed, they deserved his own silence in the matter. 

Yes, the best thing he could do was to keep his silence and wait to see what would happen.

**Author's Note: **I know, you're all amazed...an update... So review and tell me what you think of the developments, as well as your theories on how it all happened.


	8. The Results

The sunbeams danced merrily on the burgundy carpeting of the Gryffindor common room as Harry sat, hunched over a piece of parchment. He bit his lip as he concentrated and made a few marks with his quill. No, that wouldn't do at all… He crossed out what he'd just written. The sunlight was bothering him—it was altogether too cheerful outside.

"It's called the pathetic fallacy," said a voice nearby, and Harry jumped, splattering ink over the table as he looked up to see Hermione standing there, a small smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.

"Merlin, Hermione, you shouldn't sneak up on people like that!" Harry snapped, a little more harshly than he'd meant to. Seeing her unnerved him and brought a stream of unwanted thoughts pouring through his mind.

She shrugged. "Sorry about that. Here, let me help."

With a tap of her wand, the ink had vanished, and she slid into the seat opposite him. "What were you saying before?" asked Harry, knowing that she'd tell him anyway.

"Oh," said Hermione brightly. "What you're experiencing, or rather not experiencing, is a literary term called 'pathetic fallacy.' It means that most people expect the weather to match their moods. If they're angry, they expect a thunderstorm; if they're happy, they want cheerful weather; and if they're sad, they want lots of rain and clouds. You definitely don't look like you're in the mood for the spring weather outside. Is something the matter?"

She was just too damn perceptive. "Nothing," mumbled Harry. "I'm fine."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You know how I feel about you lying, Harry. No, really; tell me."

"It's really none of your business," said Harry. Actually, it is. But you don't know about it, and hopefully you never will… If she ever found out what they were hiding from her, she would murder every last one of them, slowly and painfully.

Hermione was watching him, a strange expression on her face. "Harry," she said hesitantly, then paused. "Harry, are you sure there isn't anything you want to tell me?"

Harry felt as if ice was racing down his spine. She couldn't possibly know something…could she? "No," he said quickly. Too quickly.

Hermione straightened, looking a little sad. "Alright," she sighed. "Well, I'll leave you to your revising, then."

Harry didn't look at her.

She hesitated a moment longer, then seemed to come to a decision. "You know, Harry," she began, her voice low and serious. "We used to be able to tell each other everything, back when we were best friends. But something's changed, and I'm not sure what it was."

Harry didn't move, but millions of emotions and memories were racing through his head. He wanted to jump up, to tell her it would be alright, to confess everything, to tell her what had happened, and why they'd all been lying to her…maybe she'd forgive them, maybe they could be best friends again…but Dumbledore had made them swear. And Harry had been so sure at the time that the Headmaster's decision was for the best…it had seemed like the only thing to do…and Hermione seemed perfectly fine now, as if it had never happened…

She sighed. "That's all. See you around." And frozen in his seat, Harry watched helplessly as his best friend of six and a half years walked away.

* * *

"That's it," said Hermione angrily as she entered her dorm room. Parvati was sprawled on the bed flipping through CosmoWitch magazine as Lavender redid her fingernails in bright red polish.

"What's up this time?" asked Lavender lazily, not even looking up.

"I've given them every opportunity to just tell me what's going on, but they won't! I tried to get Harry to talk, but he clammed up..." She drifted off, staring unseeingly at the wall tapestry.

"Maybe they're under some type of oath," remarked Parvati airily.

Hermione frowned. "Dumbledore wouldn't use an Unbreakable Vow—if they accidently said anything, they could be killed… And I don't think he'd put them under any other type of secrecy pact… Perhaps he just threatened them a bit and gave them an earful about how keeping their blasted secret was for my own good."

"Really? Hmmm," said Lavender absently, and Hermione huffed.

"Obviously you two are no help at all," she said pointedly, and turned to leave.

"Wait," said Parvati suddenly, pushing herself into the sitting position. "I thought of something this morning...well, actually Padma thought of it, but that's not important. Where did you stay over Christmas holidays?"

Hermione frowned. "With my grandparents, but I don't see…"

"Let me rephrase that: where do you remember staying over Christmas?"

"You think my memories of Christmas could be modified?"

Parvati shrugged. "Well, you don't remember much at all, just the fact that you were with your grandparents, but obviously you couldn't have been there the entire time, since you and Malfoy had enough time to…"

Hermione cleared her throat pointedly.

"…to procreate," said Parvati, rolling her eyes. "Face the truth, Hermione. You're not going to wake up from this nightmare anytime soon."

"Is there a way to find out whether you really did stay with your grandparents over Christmas?" asked Lavender.

Hermione was nodding. It was a brilliant idea. She'd write her grandparents and drop subtle hints about how much fun she had over Christmas holidays. When they wrote back, she'd know for sure whether they'd thought her comments were out of place or not. It wasn't much, but it was definitely a start. She was following the trail of breadcrumbs, and eventually she'd come across a large enough piece of evidence to get to the bottom of all this…

"I think Zabini knows something," said Lavender, still examining her fingernails.

Hermione jerked out of her reverie. "What?" she said, not sure she'd heard correctly. Zabini? Was did he have to do with all of this?

Lavender shrugged. "He's been staring at you oddly for the past couple of weeks. You and Malfoy, both, actually. I think he knows something."

"How is that possible, though?" said Hermione. "I mean, if I was obliviated, it's natural that the Weasleys, Harry, Dumbledore, and McGonagall would all be in on it, but Zabini? It makes no sense."

Parvati frowned, but Lavender was suddenly nodding her head. "No, it makes perfect sense. Think about it; who's Malfoy's closest friend?"

"Zabini," said Hermione, not sure where she was going with this.

"So if you two did have a relationship before Christmas, who would be the most logical person aside from your closest friends to know of it?"

"Zabini," said Hermione. "But why would Malfoy have told him anything? I'm only a Mudblood in their eyes."

"Perhaps Malfoy trusted him enough. Maybe he found out by accident. In either case, if you two did have something going on, you must have kept it really quiet, because I certainly don't remember anything even remotely romantic happening between you and Malfoy. The only reason I suspect Zabini is that he's the only person who seems to even be even a little suspicious of you and Malfoy ever since Christmas hols."

"I dunno…." Hermione said hesitantly. It all seemed like too much of a far shot.

"Just trust me on this one," said Lavender. "Just talk to him. Who knows? He might know something important—something you and Malfoy couldn't have thought of otherwise."

* * *

"I don't understand why you insist on meeting in a classroom when all the books we need are in the library," Hermione said loudly as she stalked into the deserted classroom that night. "There's not much we can accomplish here…"

Then she saw Malfoy; he was leaning casually against the professor's desk, arms folded casually over his chest. On the desktop next to him sat two vials full of potion—one red, and one blue. "Oh," said Hermione, suddenly realising why he'd asked her to meet him here. "Oh."

"Finally figured it out, did you, Granger?" said Malfoy, regarding her coldly.

"It took you long enough to make the potions," she shot back. "I know a hundred Ravenclaws who could have finished in half the time."

"I had to make sure they were perfect," said Malfoy, his cold grey eyes shooting daggers in her direction. "The quality determines the accuracy of the results."

He wanted someone else to be the father—she could tell—but however Slytherin he might be, she was pretty sure he wouldn't purposely alter the potions to create an ulterior outcome. They both knew she could just go to St. Mungo's over Spring hols and get a certified document with the true results signed by a healer if she needed to.

Hermione wondered, though, if something had happened since the last time they'd met. Sure, he'd never been nice to her, but tonight his voice had a sharp edge in it that hadn't been there before, and he was being even more Malfoy-like than usual.

"I don't have all night," Malfoy said sharply. "Take the damned potion, already."

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, Hermione stalked over to the desk and snatched the vial. She let her school bag slip off of her shoulder and uncorked the container. She paused, though, glancing sharply over at the Slytherin. "This isn't poisoned, is it?"

He snorted. "Like I'd risk Azkaban to murder the Head Girl in my seventh year at Hogwarts! My father didn't speak kindly of the place."

She swallowed, suddenly remembering that Lucius had spent nearly a year there before being released by the Ministry who claimed that no proper trial had been given, and that the circumstances whereby Lucius had been convicted were gravely misinterpreted. A bunch of crap, really, but there wasn't much anyone in the order could do against Cornelius Fudge's idiocy.

Malfoy tapped his foot. "I'm a busy man, Granger."

Rather than fight with him (even though she was bursting to return with something mean and degrading) Hermione bit her lip and lifted the vial to her lips. Too late she remembered the exact effects of this potion and wished that she'd had the good sense to conjure herself up a cot, but the sickly sweet liquid was already sliding down her throat…

And then the wave of pain hit her like a punch in the gut. "Oof," she gasped, doubling over at first, then sliding to the floor and curling up in a ball. She gritted her teeth against the pain; Malfoy was simply watching her, an indifferent expression on his face, and between surges of pain, she felt anger welling up inside of her. She wanted to hit or hex him, but didn't have the energy…the pain was worsening, but it wasn't any more intense than the last time she'd done this test. Too bad Padma couldn't have come to help…

At last, the pain subsided, and with gritted teeth Hermione pulled herself off the floor. Malfoy merely watched her indifferently. "Get on the desk," he ordered.

Had they been completely different people in a completely different situation, Hermione mused, his order could have had a completely different meaning.

Seething, she obeyed, then stuck out her hand for the potion. "Gladly," Malfoy said coolly. "I wouldn't touch you myself with a ten foot broom."

"You obviously didn't feel that way back in December," she shot back, snatching the vial from his fingertips and lying back on the desk. She paused, however, before pulling up her shirt. "Stop gawking."

One eyebrow twitched. "I've already seen you naked once," Malfoy reminded her, his mouth curling in disgust. "I assure you, it's not an experience I'd like to repeat."

Hermione bristled. "If I were you, I'd watch what I say," she hissed. "I might just let it slip to Lavender and Parvati that I happen to remember how unimpressed I was with the size of your…"

"Get on with the damned procedure," interrupted Malfoy, his eyes cold and hard. "Now."

Something in his voice sent chills down her back, and trying not to swallow and lose her composure, Hermione satisfied herself with a glare and went back to applying the sticky red potion to her abdomen. At last, she lay back on the table; Malfoy stalked over, raising his wand and causing her to flinch a little. She had to admit, though, that even in his anger, his spellwork was flawless. Padma's incantations had been impressive but this…this was a work of art. She watched, entranced as Malfoy built layers upon layers of spells, at last finishing the incantations with the simple, "Genotori Revealto."

Slowly words began to form, and Hermione pushed herself up and off the desk, murmuring a quick cleansing charm to remove the paste from her skin. The outline of a name came into sight; then one by one the letters became clear…

"God," sighed Hermione.

Malfoy merely glared at the letters, then turned to stalk a few feet away.

"Draco Malfoy," read the words, and this time, their accuracy was indisputable. "And I was so hoping that my son would have someone decent for his father," she finished, staring at the words as she chewed on her bottom lip.

Malfoy turned. "Son?" he echoed skeptically.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Maternal instinct," she said icily.

"A son," he echoed, and suddenly he looked lost. In that instant, she actually felt a surge of pity; here he was, eighteen, and a father already. And the mother was a girl he absolutely detested.

"Malfoy," said Hermione softly, and instantly the cold, hard expression was back. All of her pity vanished.

"I've got business to attend to," said Malfoy coldly.

Hermione closed her eyes briefly. "As do I," she reminded him. "Tomorrow night at the library?"

"I don't think so," said Malfoy, and Hermione's eyes flew open.

"What?"

"I rather think that if you're in any way curious about these alleged memory charms, you can bloody figure them out by yourself. I'm finished."

"This isn't just about me!" Hermione exclaimed incredulously. "Your past and future is as much at stake as mine is!"

"I think you've got that part wrong," said Malfoy, one corner of his mouth curling up sadistically. "See, I highly doubt you'll ever have the guts to tell anyone else that I'm the father of your unborn child, and even if you did, they'd never believe you. So really, I've got nothing to lose from breaking the arrangement we had."

"You'd be recovering your past!"

"If you were there, perhaps I don't want to recover any of it."

"You don't even know what really happened or why our memories were erased!"

"Maybe I don't want to know what happened," he said coldly. "I rather like my role in this godforsaken mess. I've got the easy way out—feign ignorance."

"You can't do that," she whispered.

"I can do anything," he said, his silver eyes mocking her. "I'm a Malfoy."

"Not this…not after everything that's happened…don't leave…."

"It's for the best," said Malfoy.

"Who's best? Yours or mine?"

He regarded her indifferently for a long moment before saying, "Goodbye, Granger."

She watched him leave, frozen in the center of the deserted classroom, and a single, unwanted tear slipped down her cheek.

"Bastard."

* * *

When Hermione finished hastily cleaning the classroom, she stumbled back to the Gryffindor Common Room and stood in front of the Portrait Hole trying to remember the password. Her entire body felt numb, as if suddenly all the life had been drained out of her.

"Password?" said the Fat Lady for the third time, looking annoyed.

"I…I don't remember," said Hermione, her bottom lip trembling. "I don't know!"

The Fat Lady, in one of her rare instances of compassion, took pity on the poor Head Girl. "Just this once, dear," she reminded sternly as she swung open. Hermione staggered into the common room, hoping to heaven none of her friends were there. Alas, tonight she would have no such luck…

"Hermione? Hermione! What's wrong?" she heard the boys calling as she dashed past them and fled up the curving staircase to the seventh year dorm room. Lavender and Parvati weren't there, and she thanked her lucky stars for that. Hermione collapsed onto her bed and buried her face in her pillow, unable to hold back the tears any longer. Great heaving sobs racked her body as she clutched the blankets as if they were her anchor to life.

How could he just abandon her like that? How could he pretend to be concerned, and then just dump her when she needed him most? No one could have ever called them friends, but she had thought that the circumstances that had brought them together would have also helped him to understand just a little of what she was going through…this was half his fault anyway… But she never, ever should have expected so much from a Malfoy.

And why was she reacting so violently? She should have expected this day to come…he meant nothing to her, yet here she was, crying her eyes out over a few harsh words…

Blame it on the hormones.

Vermin. Spawn of satan. Son of a b…

Suddenly, there was a sharp rap at the door, before it was pushed open. "Hermione? Are you alright?"

Merlin's Beard… She'd forgotten about Ginny—the last person in the world she wanted to see right now. The youngest Weasley plopped down on the edge of her bed and a second later, Hermione felt the girl begin to stroke her hair. "It's going to be fine," she said comfortingly. "Ssshhhh…"

And suddenly, all the anger and frustration that had been building up for the previous weeks rushed through her. Anger, frustration, injustice, rage, and an acute feeling of betrayal—betrayal by her own friends. They had no right…they shouldn't have… Why? Why had they done it? Why had they lied to her?

Pulling herself together, Hermione rolled over and scooted as far away from Ginny as she could. "Get out," she whispered.

Ginny blinked. "What?"

"I said, get out."

The redhead looked abashed. "Hermione, I know you're upset, but…"

"LEAVE!" Hermione screamed, jumping to her feet, just as the door swung open again to reveal a flabbergasted Lavender and Parvati. "I want you OUT of my room this instant!"

For a second, time stood still. Then, all at once, Ginny said, "You can't mean that…" and Lavender strode forward and latched onto one of Ginny's arms, pulling her to her feet.

"She told you to leave," said Lavender, her voice low and dangerous.

With one more frightened look at Hermione, Ginny seemed to decide that leaving would be the safest choice. She sent a disgusted look at Lavender who stared her down unblinkingly. Then the redhead scurried to the door like a rat and disappeared down the stairs.

Parvati slammed the door shut behind Ginny; Hermione's knees gave out and she collapsed onto the bed, her hands fluttering as she stared unseeingly at the wall.

"Bitch," said Lavender hatefully. "What did she do?"

"Nothing," said Hermione shakily. "Except try and act sorry when she wasn't. It…it was Malfoy…"

And slowly, haltingly, she told them the story; Lavender and Parvati were the perfect audience, gasping and sighing at all the right places. Near the end, Hermione gave into her tears; blasted hormones… But Lavender and Parvati took it all in stride, patting her gently on her shoulder and handing her a big box of fluffy tissues.

"The bastard," Lavender spat once Hermione had finished her tale.

"Watch your language," Parvati said reproachfully to her friend, and Hermione smiled a little.

"Why? Seamus seems to enjoy my dirty mouth," said Lavender primly, and Hermione choked. "OK,OK, new topic," the girl said quickly, grinning. "Hermione, did you write that letter?"

Hermione shook her head. "What's the use?"

"What's the use? The use is for you to find out the truth for yourself! Who need Draco bloody Malfoy? Not you."

Hermione eyed her skeptically. "It doesn't really matter anywhere," she said dully. "He doesn't even care about anything anymore. I'm carrying his child, and he doesn't even want to know what happened!"

Lavender and Parvati exchanged glances. "Sure, he does."

Hermione frowned. "But he said…"

"Does Draco Malfoy have a reputation for being honest? Ever?"

"No, but…"

"He's just scared," said Lavender condolingly. "Can't you see? He's pushing you away because he's afraid of what he'll find out if he keeps looking."

"You've been reading too many romance novels," scoffed Hermione.

"Perhaps," said Lavender with a knowing smile. "You're probably right—he's just being a bastard—but I'm willing to take my chances that he has ulterior motives for being all cold and distant all of a sudden. But then again, I've never even seen Malfoy be caring and sensitive, so this is probably just normal for him. Have you written that letter yet?"

Hermione blinked. "What?"

"The letter," said Parvati impatiently. "To your grandparents."

Hermione shook her head. "I've been too busy."

"Do it soon," Parvati instructed. "I have a feeling you're going to thank me for that particular piece of advice one day. Now, go wash your face and we'll sneak down to the kitchens to get a late dinner."

And then Hermione realised exactly who was still down in the common room…and exactly whom she' d just yelled at… "Oh, Merlin," she whispered.

Parvati frowned. "What?"

"I just yelled at Ginny…she'll go straight to Harry and Ron, and they'll know something's up…"

"They were bound to start noticing something anyway," said Lavender soothingly. "But if you're really worried, just apologise tomorrow and say you were PMSing. It always works for me."

Hermione laughed shakily, then sobered. "Thanks," she said softly. "For everything."

Parvati smiled. "What are friends for?"

**Author's Note: **Loads of nice reviews! I love you guys! Anyway, with the death threats I recieved, I decided to update. Hopefully, soon the mystery will start to unravel.

I will also mention that _First_ is in no way related to this story. It's a completely separate plot bunny I thought of.

Also, I might have to up the rating for future chapters, when the mystery is solved. Just a warning.


	9. Wants and Needs

A week passed. Then two.

A very, very long two weeks, in Draco's opinion, but of course he'd never admit that to anyone, and hardly to himself. Granger hadn't spoken to him since that evening in the classroom, except on occasions of necessity. She hadn't really looked at him. He didn't really mind. He was, though, suspicious of the gleam in her eye. There was no doubt that she was continuing the search on her own—it would be uncharacteristic of her to abandon a mystery just as it began to get interesting. But had she actually discovered something new? Had she regained any more memories?

Draco pushed these thoughts away. She was, after all, no longer his concern. He had extricated himself permanently from the entire mess. He was no longer involved.

_She doesn't really want me to help, anyway. I don't even want to know what happened._

But then another voice in his head whispered, _Or is that only what you want yourself to believe?_

Draco contented himself with observing from a distance. Granger, it seemed, had made up with Potter and the Weasleys, but she didn't spend much time with them at all. She did, however, begin to be seen more and more often with Lavender, Parvati, and Padma. When she was at meals, she didn't eat much, and the thought occurred to Draco that she wasn't eating enough to sustain a pixie, much less herself and an unborn child. Silly, foolish girl—she should have taken the abortive potion while she could. After a number of weeks, Draco remembered, the potions alone were not enough to commit the act and kill the fetus. After a given time period, the process was a lot more dangerous and complicated.

She hadn't started showing yet, something Draco was glad for. As soon as her stomach began to bulge, questions would be asked, and rumours would begin to fly. He knew Granger really didn't need to deal with the added stress right now, not on top of N.E.W.T.'s and the added research for reversing the memory charms.

But then again, why was he even thinking about her? It didn't matter to him. She could deal with it all by herself.

Or so he tried to convince himself.

Draco had always been something of a loner, so avoiding people came naturally to him. He ate his meals alone, studied alone, sat alone at the classes he could, and generally kept to himself. Even Crabbe and Goyle rarely tried to latch onto him anymore. The Slytherins in general kept at a respectful distance; it was widely known that his father was Lord Voldemort's second-in-command. Parkinson, Crabbe, and Goyle threw him glances once in a while, but he didn't care at them. The annoying observers were the Patil twins and Lavender Brown, who seemed to have made it their life mission to maintain a twenty-four hour Malfoy Watch. They didn't even have the decency to look away when he glared right back at them. Blaise Zabini kept his distance, but he too shot odd looks at Draco when he thought he wasn't looking. Draco figured that something was going on with Blaise, but under his new "ignore the problem and it will disappear" theology, he had decided not to go looking for answers and solutions.

Granger ignored him religiously. It was almost as if he was invisible in her presence, a feeling he didn't much like. He ignored her back, but it didn't seem to affect her.

Only once did the ice crack—briefly, before freezing over again. They were patrolling one of the upper corridors late one night when they suddenly heard sounds of shuffling coming from one of the closets. "What on earth," muttered Draco.

He stepped forward and tried the door. It was locked—no surprise there. But when he tried the Alohomora charm, and then a few other simple spells, nothing worked. "What the hell…"

He glanced at Hermione, but she was looking bored, her arms crossed and one foot tapping the floor.

"Hominum revealo," said Draco, and the blue spell outlined the forms of two bodies behind the door. There were students inside.

"Let me try," said Granger with a sigh. She stepped forward, and he didn't argue as she began muttering a long string of instructions under her breath. Suddenly a glow lit up from the handle, blue, with green undertones. "A Heclian circle," she said, more to herself than to him. "I've never seen one before…"

Then she did something with her wand, and Draco watched, impressed. Heclian circles were supposed to be very hard to break—whoever had locked the captives in the closet hadn't wanted them to be able to escape anytime soon. But Granger—she was unraveling the wards like they were simple charms. A minute later, the door swung open.

Crabbe and Goyle sat in the closet, tied back to back and gagged, wearing nothing but their boxers. Well, briefs, in Goyle's case—ugh. Draco shuddered.

Granger looked like she wanted to laugh, but she kept her composure as she quickly freed the boys and conjured up some simple robes for them to wear back to the Slytherin dungeon. Then she helped them look for their wands, which were hanging from conjured ropes dangling from the ceiling.

"Who did this to you?" asked Granger kindly.

They stared at her dumbly. "Dunno," said Crabbe finally. "I couldn't see anything—it was all black."

"It must have been terrifying," said Granger sympathetically. "Well, we'll look for the culprits, and you two head back to your dorms, alright?"

The two bumbling Slytherins nodded before stumbling down the hall and around the corner.

Granger's lips twitched. Then, they twitched again, and Draco watched as slowly her face lost its composure and she began to laugh uncontrollably. And then, before he knew it, he was laughing too at the mere stupidity of his fellow Slytherins, and the irony of this entire situation.

"It was Ravenclaws," gasped Granger. "Your bumbling friends have been making passes at Lisa Turpin, I heard, and a few Ravenclaws probably put their heads together to come up with a really good payback… The funny part is that Crabbe and Goyle don't even know who threw them in the closet in the first place, so the Ravenclaws' revenge did absolutely no good at all…"

And suddenly, Draco was swept away with an overwhelming memory of the two of them standing in this very same corridor, laughing at a joke he'd made… It was had been on a patrol, he thought. They'd been talking and laughing…just like…just like...

But that wasn't possible.

He'd never be more than grudging acquaintances with her, under any circumstances.

When he looked over, Granger was staring at him, and he somehow knew she'd seen the same memory. Granger carefully met his eyes, a look of half-disbelief, half-disgust on her face.

"Malfoy," she said hesitantly, shaking her head a little. "I think…I think we were _friends_."

* * *

After that incident, things went back to normal. Relative normal, anyway—she ignored him. Conversations were kept at a minimum, as well as time spent together, and Draco found he missed the time they had spent searching for information, though much of their meetings had been spent in heated argument.

He was absolutely determined never to speak to her again, but what really irked him was the fact that she didn't seem to care. It seemed that after his desertion, her resolve had only been strengthened.

His own resolve was nearly shattered, though, when one day Granger slipped out of her seat at dinner and at the same time, Blaise Zabini excused himself from the Slytherin table. To the average person, this would have been nothing, but to Draco, it meant trouble.

He slipped out of his seat and hurried after them, cautiously, of course. He reached the entry way just in time to see Blaise and Granger disappear around the far corner, deep in conversation.

He knew better than to follow them, but as Draco made his way back to the Slytherin common room, he pondered this new development. What on earth was Blaise doing with Granger? Had she told him everything? If she had… He contemplated the cruel and inhumane tortures he'd like to inflict upon the little wrench if she had told Zabini everything. Zabini would never let him hear the end of it—knocking up the Mudblood? That was definitely enough gossip to keep the students of Hogwarts talking until graduation. And Zabini would never take a bribe for silence…Draco knew that from experience, after Blaise had walked in on him and Ravenclaw last year…

In the common room, Draco tried unsuccessfully to study. Blaise didn't reappear until nearly nine. By this time, every last bit of Malfoy composure had vanished, and Draco immediately jumped on the unsuspecting Slytherin.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Blaise stopped, looking startled. "I'm walking to my dorm room," he said, one eyebrow shooting up.

"No," hissed Draco. "I mean with Granger."

An expression of comprehension briefly Blaise's face, followed by one of indifference. "I don't see how that's any of your business."

"Of course it's my business, you git," Draco exploded, then checked himself. He narrowed his eyes. "How much did she tell you?"

"Enough," said Blaise coldly, and Draco suddenly had the urge to murder the Head Girl in cold blood. But then the other boy continued: "She said you both have memory loss and you're being an arse about it."

Draco relaxed a little. "You shouldn't be associating with the likes of her," he snapped.

"I'll associate with her if I want to" Blaise shot back. "I don't have to listen to you, not after you've been acting like such an enormous prat lately—do you have any idea how arrogant you are? You never, ever listen to anyone except your precious mum and dad who are training you up to become a bloody Death Eater just like them…"

And suddenly, Draco saw a flash of something, maybe it was another damned memory… He and Blaise were standing in front of this very fireplace, but Blaise was doing the yelling…

_"What the hell are you doing with her?"_

_"It's none of your business whom I'm friends with!"_

_"Friends? Friends, oh, this is rich," sneered Blaise. "Draco Malfoy, wealthy brat, advocator for purity of blood, and hater of all Muggleborns is now confessing to be friends with the sorriest excuse for a witch Hogwarts has seen in centuries?"_

_"I'll befriend whomever I bloody please!"_

_There was a long silence as the glass figurines on the mantle seemed to finally stop wobbling and right themselves. Draco realised that his fists were so tightly clenched that his fingernails were digging into his palms. _

_Blaise simply stared. "Good god, Malfoy, you're in love!"_

_Draco snorted. "Hardly. We're just friends. But I swear, Zabini, if you tell a soul that I'm spending time with Granger, you'll wish you'd never been born."_

_"When did this all happen?" said Blaise, still staring, shell-shocked, at his friend._

_"When her parents died."_

_"So this is the new side of Draco Malfoy--caring, comforting, sensitive; you rushed in when she was emotional and broken and swept her off her feet. Is she any good in bed?"_

_"Dammit, Zabini!" shouted Draco, very, very close to losing his cool. "We are friends, and that's it! We haven't even kissed."_

_Not entirely true, said a voice in his head, but Draco pushed that thought away._

_Blaise's lip curled. "What's the good of being friends with a Mudblood if you're not even getting laid for your troubles?"_

_An instant later, Draco found himself pressing Blaise against the stone wall, his wand held tightly to the other boy's throat. "One more degrading word, and I swear, Zabini, Slytherin or not, I'll hex you into the next universe. Understand?"_

_After a long pause, Blaise finally nodded, and Draco let him go, slowly. Blaise's lips curled as he shoved Draco away and flattened his shirt. "I'll keep your dirty little secret," he said bitterly. "As long I don't have to associate with the filthy Mudblood."_

_"Don't call her that," snapped Draco, with more vehemence than he had thought himself capable of. _

_Blaise gave him a long look before turning to leave, but his parting words echoed in Draco's mind. "Not in love, my arse."_

The scene faded and Draco blinked. Blaise was standing in front of him, arms crossed across his chest.

"I don't know why you're defending her," said Draco in a burst of inspiration. "You're the one who called her a filthy Mudblood in the first place."

Blaise winced. "I didn't mean it," he began, but then his dark eyes widened. "You remember?"

"Just bits and pieces, scenes and conversations," Draco said, staring now at the rug. There was something he was missing here, something important…there must be a pattern to how his memory was returning. He hardly hoped to have the amount of luck it required to find something Granger herself hadn't yet noticed, but there was always a chance that the bookworm had overlooked something in her research.

He turned pleadingly to Blaise and fixed him with a look. "Zabini, you've got to tell me everything you know, and I mean _everything_." Then, as an afterthought, "Please."

* * *

The answer came to him in the middle of the night. He was dreaming of Cornish pixies and Dumbledore wearing a big black cape and cackling evilly, when suddenly he sat up in bed, wide awake for no reason at all. But he knew.

Now to back his theory up with book evidence.

Draco was out of bed and to the library at first light. Madame Pince glared suspiciously at him as he sped past her and began pulling books from the shelves. Picking the five memory charm books most likely to contain the information he needed, Draco moved on to the Muggle psychology shelves. Once he had a good-sized stack, he quickly checked them out and carted them up to the seventh floor, hoping to Merlin that he didn't meet Granger or any of her so-called friends. Fate, it seemed, was on his side at last, though, and he reached the blank stretch of wall without being seen by anyone important. Quickly pacing three times, Draco finally opened his eyes and grabbed the door handle, pushing the door open.

The Room of Requirement had provided a small study for him. A low fire burned on one wall; the three other walls were covered in book shelves. An emerald high-backed chair stood on a silver throw rug in front of the fireplace. Draco immediately sat down his stack of books on a low table and threw himself into the chair. The conveniently placed clock on the mantle read 7:45, and when a sigh, he reached for the first book and began to read.

Three hours later, he still had not found what he was looking for, and he only had two more books left to look through. Two of his morning classes had already slipped by unnoticed, but Draco didn't really need to attend anyway. He already knew the material for N.E.W.T.'s, and most of his classes were relatively boring in his opinion. Granger and her pals might wonder where he was, but he'd leave them the fun of inventing ridiculous theories.

In the fifth book, on page 872, Draco finally found the answer to the mystery they'd been trying to solve for months.

_In the Muggle world, repressed memory, formerly known as Psychogenic Amnesia, refers to the inability to recall information, usually about stressful or traumatic events in persons' lives, such as a violent attack or rape. The memory is stored in long term memory, but access to it is impaired because of psychological defense mechanisms. Persons retain the capacity to learn new information and there may be some later partial or complete recovery of memory. This type of memory loss is closely related to amnesia caused by spell damage because the Memory Modification Charms used enter the victim's head and destroy the connections between the hippocampus and the rest of the brain, causing the memory loss readily associated with these types of spells. Sissy Steinbeck (b. 1859) did extensive studies on Muggles with memory loss and found that if individuals were placed in similar circumstances with similar people as in the prior events they'd forgotten, some recovery would be made. Steinbeck theorized that often times, however, the brain does not destroy the connection, but simply blocks it, leaving the opportunity for memory recovery as the individual experiences circumstances and events that have the potential to jog the mind. It is speculated that perhaps Memory Modification Charms may be reversed in the same way—by putting the individual in similar circumstances as before and using these visual and auditory stimuli to prod the brain into remembrance. Since these charms are used mostly on Muggles, though, no experiments have been done, as the Muggles have almost no chance of ever running into Wizards again in their lifetimes and thus a very low risk of recovering any memories of magical things. _

His theory had been right. He could hardly contain the giant smirk that crept across his face. Oh, would Granger be mad when she discovered that he'd solved the mystery first…

He just needed a little more proof. Granger would of course be skeptical of a theory based on only one author.

Draco loaded up his books, discretely thanked the Room of Requirement, and descended the staircases to the library, where he immediately rushed to the psychology section.

It was two and a half more hours before his theory was completely written out and documented using credible Wizarding sources.

Fighting the urge to find her right that instant thus giving himself more time to gloat, Draco headed back to his dorm room to catch up on some sleep. He knew Granger didn't go to the library on Thursday afternoons. She'd wait until after dinner, when Potter and Weasley had Quidditch practice. He couldn't wait to see the incredulously furious look on her face when he told her his news…

Granger didn't have a chance.

* * *

Hermione leaned back in her chair and pinched the bridge of her nose as she surveyed the large stack of books she'd just finished scouring for information. Once again, she'd come up with nothing. No explanation for her unexplainable flashes of memories, no hope of a spell or potion that would be able to bring back her memories.

It was almost as if someone didn't want her to learn the truth.

Sighing, she stretched, then decided to check once again at the spell damage section—someone had checked out five of the books she needed for her search, but she wasn't too worried; most likely it was just an over-enthusiastic Ravenclaw doing a project for Charms.

Slowly, Hermione threaded her way through the shelves, but she was disappointed to find the space still empty. Turning to leave, she was stopped by a voice coming from the other end of the row. "Looking for this, Granger?"

She spun around. Draco Malfoy was leaning casually against the shelf, smirking at her as he held out Who Am I? And Who Are You? Theories on Memory Charms by Fergus Forgetmenot.

"What do you want?" asked Hermione, keeping her voice as cold as she could manage.

He shrugged. "Just returning a book." But she knew he was lying. There was a glint in his eye that she didn't like—not at all. What was he playing at?

"If you've come crawling back to apologize and ask to be included in the search again, I don't need you; I'm doing quite well on my own," said Hermione nastily. "So you can just crawl back into the hole you came from and…"

"Just admit that you need me, Granger, and it'll make this so much easier," said Malfoy, rolling his eyes and pasting a bored look on his face.

She huffed in frustration. "I don't know who you think you are, but…" Hermione stopped, then began again. "For all you know, I could have the whole mystery solved by now!"

"But you don't," he said confidently, smirking in an infuriatingly conceited way.

"How do you know?" blurted out Hermione, then reddened, realising how she must have sounded. She pulled herself together. "Malfoy, I'd suggest that you leave…"

"You haven't found the answer," interrupted Malfoy. "If you had, I'd be the first to know about it. In fact, if you had found the answer, I'd know because you'd be spending every second of your free time with me."

Hermione realized that her jaw must have hit the floor, but she honestly couldn't get anything out, except for an enraged sort of sputtering.

Malfoy sighed dramatically. "Just admit that you need me, Granger." He fixed her with a look—a slow smirk that made her want to hex the living daylights out of him, and then said, "It'll make all of this so much easier."

**Author's Note: **OK, so you've probably noticed that I've began to switch viewpoints quite frequently. Hope that's not a confusion to anyone. Also, how much to you all want to see of Zabini in the upcoming story? I can make him a main character, or shove him to the back. Oh, and do any of you have a big issue with the rating going to M later on in the story? If so, I can probably keep it T, but I want your opinon on the matter before I make a final decision.

Some of the long book-quote in this chapter was taken from , the page on amnesia.

Glad that some of you like the non-bitchy Lavender and Parvati! I always thought that even though those two do have a serious mean streak (as demonstrated in Lavender's blatant dealings with Ron) that if Hermione were ever in big trouble, they'd stand behind her (kind of the D.A. type of loyalty).

You know what I want now. (Well, besides world peace, a decent presidental candidate for the 2008 election, and a big slab of Hershey chocolate...)


	10. Coventry House

"You're suggesting that we do stuff together to regain our memories?"

It sounded absurd, thought Hermione as she stood, arms crossed, awaiting his reply.

Malfoy glared at her. "Believe me," he said stiffly, "I don't like the prospects any better than you do, but as neither of us have come up with a better alternative . . ."

Hermione knew it was true. A week had passed since Malfoy's arrogant announcement that he had in fact unlocked the mystery. It'd taken several more days of study and cross-checking before she'd finally admitted he was correct.

They hardly knew anything so far—Blaise's information had been helpful, but scanty. He hadn't been able to tell them any more than the fact that after his confrontation with Malfoy, Hermione and the Head Boy had remained close friends, though he speculated that there'd been more; the only other useful piece of information he'd been able to produce was that she and Malfoy had _not_ gone to the same place over Christmas. He'd personally seen Draco off to Malfoy Manor via the Hogwarts Express, and watched Granger Floo out of McGonagall's office to the Three Broomsticks, where she had apparated to her Muggle grandparents' house.

"It's the only way," Hermione admitted, pulling her mind back to the present. "But—but what do we do?"

Malfoy snorted. "The obvious, I would think. Eating, studying, patrolling, leisure time, Hogsmeade…"

"I mean, about the situation."

"I don't think you quite understand, Granger. This _is_ the only thing we can do. We can't regain our memories by other ways, we can't go confront your little friends and demand the entire story, and we certainly can't spread it to the public that you're pregnant!"

"It's _because _I'm pregnant that we know about the memory charms," said Hermione quietly.

For a long moment, Malfoy didn't say anything, standing with his back to her, arms crossed tightly over his chest. "Well, what a mess _that's_ gotten you into."

In two steps, Hermione had crossed the room and planted her finger into his chest. "Don't you start about my decision to keep the baby, Malfoy," she hissed dangerously. "I'm not asking for help, so _leave us alone."_

Malfoy backed up, hands in the air. "God, Granger, I was just speculating!" he protested.

"Well, next time your speculations to yourself," she warned, and he didn't seem to be in the mood to bicker about it.

Hermione stalked back over to the set of couches the Room of Requirement had provided for them, as the library was closed at this time of night. Being Heads kept them from getting detention if a professor happened to catch either of them on the way back to their dorms, but Hermione didn't want to have to make up a good reason for being out so late if she _was_ stopped. Unfortunately, this was the only place and time they could meet safely, as Ron and Harry had taken to following Hermione everywhere, even sending spies when they couldn't be there in person. So far, she'd caught Neville, Dean, and a sixth year girl she recognized as a good friend of Ginny's trailing her.

It'd gotten to the point where one day during Quidditch practice, she'd snuck upstairs and stolen the Marauders' Map, hiding it away carefully in the Room of Requirement where Harry and Ron would never be able to find it. Then she adamantly denied borrowing it when Harry and Ron questioned her the next morning.

If they were to catch sight of her and Malfoy together on the map . . .

Hermione threw herself onto one of the couches, and something crackled inside of her robes. Frowning, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled page—then, she remembered what it was, and forgot completely that she hadn't been planning to speak to Malfoy.

"Hey, take a look at this."

Cautiously he approached, holding out his hand with an almost disgusted look at having to be so close in proximity to her. He studied the letter for a moment before looking up. "So?"

"Did you _read _it?" she said sternly.

"Do I _need_ to read it?"

"Never mind," mumbled Hermione, knowing the conversation was pointless anyway. "It's a letter from my grandparents; I wrote them telling them how much fun I'd had at their place over Christmas holidays, and how dearly I was looking forward to seeing them again at Easter. And look what I got in return?"

She pointed to the letter.

Malfoy shrugged. "So?"

"_So," _she said exasperatedly, "the letter is forged!"

"How do you figure?"

"My grandmother _always_ ends her letters to me with, 'With all my love' and this one just ends with, 'Your loving grandmother'!"

"Maybe she just decided to change her ending," suggested Malfoy, looking at her oddly.

"And look, here," said Hermione, not at all deterred. She was getting excited. "Here, where she wrote, 'I am very happy about the prosspect of seeing you over Easter holidays, dear!' She misspelled 'prospect.'"

"An easy mistake to make . . . for a mindless Muggle," countered Malfoy.

"But her signature is wrong," Hermione continued, ignoring the jab. Somehow his insults didn't seem as hateful to her as they used to. It was almost as if they fought simply because they were supposed to, not because there was any real malice behind the sharp words and easy insults. "She always loops the 'K' in Katherine, and this time she didn't. And she always swirls the end of the 'Y' back around to cross the 'T' in Coventry."

"Your mum's parents?" guessed Draco, and Hermione nodded distractedly.

"It's forged."

"Is the handwriting the same?"

"Yeah," she admitted, "but there are spells for that."

Malfoy studied the letter, his lips pursed. "It's not as if you can just owl them and see."

"Obviously," she snapped. "Someone's intercepting my mail."

"Oh, really?" he mocked. "It doesn't take a genius to figure that out."

"Well, you shouldn't be talking, as you didn't think to tell me that my personal mail was being read a _month_ ago!"

"You know, a _month_ ago, I didn't give a damn about—"

Hermione closed her eyes. She did _not_ want to argue with him right now. "I need to go see them in person," she said, interrupting Draco's tirade.

He snorted. "Like _that's_ possible."

Hermione put her hands on her hips. "You don't get it, do you?"

"What's to get?"

She sighed impatiently. Sometimes reasoning with Malfoy was like talking to a brick wall. Everything you threw at him bounced right back. "Next weekend is _Hogsmeade._"

"You can't honestly think that _no one_ would notice if _both_ heads completely disappeared for two or three hours on a Hogsmeade weekend."

"Well, no," said Hermione, a little put out. "I mean, maybe . . . Hogsmeade is a pretty big place, and it's not like a lot of people would miss us . . ."

Then she thought of Harry and Ron. If they noticed _both _her and Malfoy missing, they'd be sure to suspect something.

"I can't go by myself!" she protested.

"Aww, need someone older to hold your hand?" he mocked.

"I will remind you that I'm older than you by nearly six months!" Hermione snapped. "And _no,_ I'm not scared to Apparate all the way to Southampton by myself. What I'm worried about is the danger."

"Danger?"

Hermione closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of nose. "Think about it, Malfoy! There are several possible scenarios that I've come up with to explain why I'm pregnant and _both_ of us are Obliviated. One, either you raped me, and because of your powerful family they let you come back to Hogwarts anyway, or we . . . we actually _did _fall in love . . ."

"Highly unlikely," commented Malfoy.

". . . and for some reason we were in danger, and we were Obliviated for our own good."

"How could that be good?"

"I don't know!" she exclaimed, exasperated. "But it's just the thing Dumbledore would do. All I'm saying is, the chance of both of us being in eminent danger is highly likely."

Finally, Malfoy seemed to see her reasoning. "We can't _both _go, though. Your _friends"—_he spat the word out like it was filthy, and Hermione didn't even try to reprimand him for his tone—"would be watching."

At least he'd figured that much out for himself. "But who else could I take?" mused Hermione. "Lavender or Parvati or Padma would be more than happy to come, but if I did get attacked along the way, they'd be no good in a fight."

"_That's_ an understatement," Malfoy muttered.

"But there's no one else I could ask . . ." Hermione trailed off.

"Take Blaise," said Malfoy suddenly, and she frowned.

"Blaise?"

"He's pretty quick with a wand, and he knows everything anyway."

"Almost everything," she corrected softly. "I didn't tell him I was pregnant."

"Why not?"

Hermione shrugged. To be entirely honest, she wasn't sure why she'd kept that piece of information to herself. Perhaps it was better not to put all of her proverbial eggs in one basket—she knew not to give all her information to one person, especially not a Slytherin who she barely knew. Unfortunately she had little choice in Malfoy's situation. "So you think Blaise will go with me?" she asked skeptically.

"He'll do it," said Malfoy confidently, and Hermione couldn't help a shiver. Malfoy seemed to have a sort of innate power over his fellow Slytherins. His father _was_ Voldemort's second-in-command, but still . . .

Hermione struggled for a moment before finally saying, "Thanks," in a flippant tone.

* * *

"Granger!" a pleased voice said, and Hermione quickly looked up to find Blaise Zabini standing next to her, two mugs of steaming Butterbeer in his hands. "Here."

"Thanks," said Hermione, pleasantly surprised. She had arranged with Malfoy to meet Blaise outside of the Hog's Head on the edge of town at two in the afternoon, and not only was the Slytherin prompt, but he had also brought her a drink. The afternoon was perfect—the sky a clear turquoise, and a light wind pulled at her coat and scarf. She was glad she'd worn Muggle-like clothes, and to her surprise, Blaise was dressed in Muggle clothing as well. "I take it you're not opposed to hanging out with a Muggleborn?"

"Not unless it affects my reputation," said Blaise, smirking, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"You Slytherins are all alike," she grumbled, lifting the lid off of the mug and taking a long draught. "You only think about yourselves."

"At least it keeps us alive," said Blaise, his voice suddenly serious, and she found that she had to agree with him, though she didn't say so out loud.

After a moment, Blaise looked around. "So, where're we off to?"

In reply, Hermione held out the letter. "My grandparents," she explained. "Did Malfoy say . . ."

"He didn't tell me anything," said Blaise, scowling. "He just cashed in a few favors."

"Sorry," said Hermione, feeling the need to apologize for the Head Boy's less than courteous behavior, but Blaise just shrugged.

"We're Slytherins. We all have dirt on each other—it's how things work. So where are we going?"

"To Southampton. I'm going to see my grandparents, just to make sure that I actually did stay with them over Christmas holidays."

Blaise nodded, and without another word began heading to the edge of town where there were fewer people and their disapparation would be less likely to be noticed. But when he reached a safe spot, he suddenly stopped and stared at Hermione, an odd look in his eye.

"What?" she asked, wondering if she had greens in her teeth or a stain on her skirt.

"Nothing," said Blaise oddly, but he continued to stare.

"We'd better get going," said Hermione impatiently. "Come on!"

Still, he hesitated. "Are sure you want to be disapparating in your . . . um, condition?"

"I'm in perfect condition, you dolt," Hermione snapped angrily, wondering what in the world had gotten into his head.

"No, I mean, are you sure you want to disapparate when you're . . . pregnant."

Her jaw dropped, and for a moment she simply stared at him before regaining her speech. "_How_ did you know? Did Malfoy tell you? Oh, I'm going to murder him…"

"No, no, Draco didn't say a thing," Blaise assured her, looking satisfied. "Your secret is safe."

"But how did you find out?" she persisted, still flabbergasted.

He shrugged. "I've got an older sister—way older, mind you—who's twenty-nine. She married one of Nott's distant cousins right after finishing up at Hogwarts and she already has four children. I dunno—after her first pregnancy, I could always tell when she was pregnant again."

"But _how_?"

"I don't know—I guess it was something about the way she talked, her manner, the hormones… I thought there was something up with you when you first told me you and Malfoy were having memory loss, but I couldn't figure out what, but I just realized it." He whistled. "Now it all makes more sense—why you started wondering if something was wrong in the first place, why you want to go see your grandparents—"

"I've done two separate pregnancy and lineage tests," Hermione cut in, anxious to explain. Secrecy was obviously out of the question now, due to the Slytherin's unexplainable ability to read her. "Malfoy's definitely the father, and now our memory is returning in little bits and pieces, but it's not fast enough—I just have to get to the bottom of this mystery one way or another, and I need to figure it out before . . ." She glanced down at her smooth stomach, embarrassed. ". . . before I start showing."

Blaise looked thoughtful. "Y'know, I might have something that could help with that," he said.

"What?"

"Not now—I'll tell you later, after I go look it up. Besides, we're running out of time. Let's go."

Hermione, thankful to have gotten her Apparation license the prior year, gave Blaise the address, and after vanishing the now empty mug of Butterbeer, concentrated hard. The squeezing, crushing sensation rushed over her body as she turned and a loud crack filled her ears. A second later, she was standing on the corner of a quiet Muggle neighborhood. The middle-class houses stood close together, separated by scant strips of lawn. She looked around, alert, but it seemed as if no one had noticed their sudden appearance out of thin air

"You sure you're alright meeting Muggles?" asked Hermione, turning to Blaise. "My grandparents know about my being a witch, but I haven't told them about the war and the whole Pureblood-Muggleborn thing…"

"I'll dazzle them," said Blaise reassuringly, flashing her a smile. "And I won't gawk at all the Muggle contraptions, I promise."

Hermione nodded. She hadn't expected him to put up a fuss about visiting Muggles—after all, he had been hanging out with her quite a bit lately, and in most Purebloods' eyes, she was no more than a glorified Muggle. She'd come to like the tall, lanky black boy over the past few weeks. It hadn't taken long for them to progress to the level of cautious friends as he met her several times to relate every detail of the past months she'd forgotten. She and Blaise hadn't had time to see each other since Malfoy had stuck his pointed noise into the whole mess once again, waving the solution in her face.

"Here we are," she said, pointing at a house that was hardly different from the rest, save for the abundant pansies surrounding the front steps.

Hermione knocked once, then twice, before stepping back to wait. She didn't realise until Blaise put a reassuring hand on her shoulder that she'd been holding her breath and twisting her hands nervously.

The white door swung open to reveal a startled looking older woman with a touch of white in her neatly arranged hair. She was wearing a pair of nice khakis with a light blue blouse, but the sophisticated effect was ruined by the flour on her hands. "Hermione? Is that you? Did something happen?"

"No, Nana, I'm fine," said Hermione quickly, stepping forward to embrace her grandmother. "I just came to visit."

The woman looked suspicious, but she quickly regained her composure. "Please, come in," she invited, holding the door open.

Blaise trailed along behind Hermione and her grandmother into the cozy living room where plaid couches surrounded a cherry wood coffee table and a large TV. "Something to drink?"

Hermione grinned. "You know what I like, Nana."

Mrs. Coventry turned to Blaise who to Hermione's surprise didn't look at all uncomfortable. "I'll have the same," he said, nodding respectfully at her grandmother.

The woman's eyebrows shot up. "You're a brave one. Such a nice young man you've brought home, Hermione. Is this that Ron fellow I heard so much about last year?"

That comment, at least, was enough to shatter Blaise's composure. Sputtering, he blushed as much as his dark skin allowed as Hermione laughed. "No, no! Blaise here is just a friend. Ron's a redhead anyway, and besides, he's an insufferable prat."

Mrs. Coventry frowned. "Why do you say that?"

"I'll tell you later," said Hermione quickly. Their time was running out. "We can't stay long."

"Then I'll get your drinks," the woman decided, bustling through the open door to the kitchen.

"She got me confused with _Weasel_?" Blaise said instantly, sounding scandalized.

Hermione chuckled. "Ron and Harry are the only blokes I've ever told my family about in detail. I . . . well, last year I fancied Ron for a bit and of course they haven't let me forget it since."

"You still fancy him?" asked Blaise interestedly.

"Of course not! I mean, not since . . ." she trailed off, but Blaise nodded, understanding flooding his eyes.

"Not since he started lying to you."

She didn't reply.

There was a long awkward silence before Blaise looked around the room and said, "What in the name of Merlin is _that_?"

"Oh, that's a telly," said Hermione, grateful for a lighter topic. "You know what a radio is, right?"

"Of course," said Blaise, looking at her funny. "Everyone has one."

"Well, this is a bit like a radio, except it projects pictures too. Want to see?"

Blaise was fascinated with the basketball game that appeared on the large screen when Hermione hit the power button on the remote control. "It's a game, like Quidditch, except without the brooms. See, they're aiming for those big hoops," explained Hermione, feeling quite inadequate. She hardly knew anything about basketball herself, but Blaise didn't seem to care.

"That's amazing," he marveled. "Look at how high they're jumping with that ball!"

At that moment, her grandmother entered the room, carrying a tray, and Blaise jerked up, averting his eyes and trying to look normal, but the woman merely smiled. "You must be from Hermione's school, aren't you? The one for children with special abilities?"

Hermione caught the ironic smile on Blaise's face as he nodded meekly.

"Oh, don't worry, Hermione's told me quite a bit," Mrs. Coventry said, nodding as she handed Hermione and Blaise their glasses full of sparkling reddish liquid. Hermione gratefully took a gulp of hers, though Blaise seemed to be a little more cautious. "How you lot use wands and do magic and such. She even bought me a copy of _Hogwarts, a History_ for my birthday, didn't you, dear? It was quite a fascinating book, but I like the moving pictures most of all."

Hermione wondered what Blaise was thinking. Maybe along the lines of, _A muggle who knows about magic and is OK with it? Is the world ending?_

But that was perfectly absurd. Blaise was taking everything in stride, and not for the first time she thanked her lucky stars that she hadn't brought Malfoy along. Blaise was smiling and nodding, obviously just as interested in Mrs. Coventry as she was in him.

"Hermione has always brought home little magical trinkets for my husband and I; she knows how much we love them. And she promised that when she turned seventeen, she'd do some magic for us, didn't you dearie? Will you and your friend do some magic for me now? Heaven knows that last time I saw you that was the last thing on both of our minds . . ."

The woman's face tightened, and she reached for her handkerchief. Unknowingly, Hermione leaned forward, her hands scrunched up in her skirt material. "At the funeral," she said, guessing.

Her grandmother squeezed her eyes shut, dabbing at the tears. "It must have been so hard for you, Hermione . . . I can't imagine how you've survived the last few months. Not a day passes that I don't think about him—my tall, handsome, sweet son and your beautiful mother—she was a daughter to me . . ."

The woman's shoulders shook in silent sobs, and Hermione jumped up to throw her arms around her grandmother, but over Mrs. Coventry's head, she exchanged a long look with Blaise. It was certain—she had not stayed here over Christmas.

"You're taking it so much better than I am," her grandmother finally sniffled, letting go and dabbing again at her eyes, and Hermione bit back the bitter reply: That's because I can't remember.

"Nana," she said carefully. "I came here for a reason."

Her grandmother's voice instantly went quiet. "What's happened?"

She exchanged one more glance with Blaise before starting. "I'm pregnant."

Overall, her grandmother took the news quite well.

"Yes, I know who the father is. No, I didn't mean for it to happen. Actually, I'm not really sure exactly what _did_ happen," Hermione said, in reply to the woman's questions. "That's why I came here, to find out exactly where I was over Christmas hols. Now at least I know where I _wasn't_."

"Of course you weren't here, dear," said Mrs. Coventry. "Your grandfather and I were vacationing in the Bahamas."

Hermione frowned. This put a whole new perspective on the mystery. Perhaps she'd wanted people to believe she was at her grandparents' house, when in reality she'd been somewhere else—or maybe she'd just stayed here by herself . . . She'd have to think about it later.

"But you do know that if that's all you wanted to ask, you could have just sent me a letter, or an 'owl,' right?"

Hermione shook her head. "I've sent you three letters in the last several weeks, and I received a reply, but it wasn't from you. It was counterfeit, I'm sure."

"You're certainly right about that," said her grandmother, looking angry. "I never got those letters, nor did I write you any. I sent you several letters right after Christmas with descriptions of my holiday to the Bahamas, but obviously you didn't receive those either."

Hermione shook her head. "Someone really doesn't want me discovering the truth," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

"I hope I'm not intruding, but I've just got to ask," said Mrs. Coventry hesitantly. "Is _Blaise_ the . . . the father?"

They both stared at the older woman for a long moment before Blaise snorted. Hermione turned a dozen shades of red. "No, Nana! No! It's someone else."

"Then who? Dear, you've got to tell me eventually."

Hermione looked around frantically for an escape. "Draco…Malfoy," she muttered under her breath.

"Louder, dear, I'm nearly deaf."

"Draco Malfoy."

Mrs. Coventry frowned. "That mean little boy who teased you and called you names?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Obviously he's not so little anymore. But yes, that's the one. He's the Head Boy at Hogwarts. Neither of us can figure out what happened, only that I'm pregnant and he's the father—and that we both have gaps in our memory."

The older woman sighed. "Well, I would never think to suggest this, but is it possible that you both met up and got drunk?"

Hermione shook her head violently. "He hates me, especially since I'm Muggleborn. He said himself he wouldn't touch me with a ten foot pole."

"Obviously, he did," her grandmother pointed out, but just then Blaise cleared his throat.

"It's nearly a quarter of five," he reminded Hermione.

"Oh, Merlin, we've got to go," she gasped, jumping up as her grandmother chuckled at the odd expression. "Thank you, Nana, for everything…"

"Don't you leave without doing some magic for me," the woman warned. "Or next time I might not make you your special drink . . ."

"What was in that anyway?" asked Blaise, staring at his empty glass. "It was delicious, by the way."

Mrs. Coventry smiled widely. "Cranberry juice and Sprite, Hermione's favorite."

"Thanks, Nana," said Hermione, quickly pecking her grandmother's cheek. "What do you want me to do for you?"

The woman looked flabbergasted. "Heavens, I don't know! Anything, I guess."

Hermione looked helplessly at Blaise, but he had already held up the empty plastic cup. "Watch carefully," he said, before concentrating and tapping the rim of the glass. Instantly it began to morph, and when the transformation was complete, he handed the glass back to her, only now it was a silver chalice with a glass stem and graceful intricate flower designs carved on the rim.

"Amazing!" Mrs. Coventry cried, clapping. "Now you must go—I don't want anyone back at Hogwarts to be suspicious of you coming here." Then, more seriously, she gripped Hermione's shoulders. "Be careful. I know your parents always assured me that Hogwarts was very safe, but I'm worried for you, Hermione. Do your best to stay out of danger."

Hermione smile faintly as she hugged her grandmother once more. "I'll try," she promised wholeheartedly. "But for some reason, danger always seems to find me, not the other way around."

* * *

The torchlight danced on the dungeon walls later that night as Blaise made his way back to his dormitory. Having walked Hermione as close to her dormitory as he could without looking suspicious, he'd left her after promising to tell Draco about the new developments, as Hermione would be tied up all evening spinning tales to the terrible trio about her absence that afternoon.

He smiled slightly. This time around, she'd been much quicker to trust him than the first time last semester. Of course, back then he'd been a right arse. With both parents firmly planted in Pureblood views, one really couldn't blame him for being appalled at Draco's announcement that he was now friends with a Muggleborn bookworm, but still, Blaise felt the little stab of guilt as he remembered how ghastly he'd been to her those first few weeks.

This time, he wouldn't botch it up. This time, he knew what an amazing, brave, witty little thing she was, and he'd treat her right.

It was amazing how one person could completely change his outlook on life, but the little Gryffindor know-it-all had done just that.

_This_ time, it seemed that it was Draco who needed the convincing that she was a human being with feelings, not him. Blaise pursed his lips, thinking. Sometimes he felt so alone. He was the only one who remembered Draco and Hermione as they had been. He was the only one who knew what it'd been like, how Hermione's eyes had lit up every time Draco walked into the room, how Draco had watched her constantly, even during meals and classes and while she studied in the library. And he was the only one who had seen the electricity between the two that neither had been willing to admit—the longing in Draco's expression, the admiring glances Hermione had thrown him when he hadn't been looking…

Had there been something there?

He was sure of it. But what had happened over Christmas? They might have liked each other, but Blaise knew for sure that neither one was reckless enough to jump into bed with the other on the spur of the moment—unless one of his theories was correct and the two _had_ been drunk—but why then the memory charms and the suspicious behavior of Potter and his cronies?

None of it made sense.

But he was certain of one thing: No matter how deep and dark the mystery, they'd get to the bottom of it.

**A/N: **Yes, an update. I know, you're all dying in shock. For the last time, this story is in no way related to _First_ or its sequel, _Second._ It's a nice thought, huh? That Hermione and Draco just fell in love and did it and that's how she ended up pregnant? Nope, in this story, it's a bit more complex. And dark. Rating will most definately change later on. I've decided. So there's a kind of interlude chapter for you. I'm trying not to bring on the H/D romance on too soon, but I'm getting tired of waiting. I think they've fought enough. Maybe time for some snogging, yeah? And some more memories returning.

_Yawn._ I'm tired. It's nearly four in the morning and I have to get up and take my little bro to school in the morning...

Make my day. Review.


	11. Pain

"I still don't understand why you've dragged me all the way up to the Astronomy Tower when we never go here for rounds," complained Granger, huffing and puffing her way up the 134-step staircase.

Draco rolled his eyes, though he knew she wouldn't see it in the dark. "If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times. Regaining our memory isn't just a simple matter of spending time together, it's the _places_ we meet and the _circumstances _surrounding the encounters. Something could have happened up at the Astronomy Tower that we'd never remember if we didn't go up there again, together."

"But why at night?" she complained. "And on patrol, of all times."

"If I think of a better time, I'll let you know," Draco shot back sarcastically, making a mental note that she was much more disagreeable later at night than earlier. "But wait . . . this _is_ the only time! Any other hour of the day your stupid nitwit friends would be crawling around spying on you like you're some sort of international terrorist."

"My friends . . ." she began, but then stopped. He smirked into the darkness, glorying in the fact that finally the day had come that Hermione Granger couldn't think of a single positive thing to say about her little Gryffindor buddies. "My 'friends,' " Granger began again, but this time, there was a decisively harder note in her voice, "are going down."

There was a long moment of silence as they climbed, both lost in their own thoughts. Draco relished the cold silence as she fumed; he'd suffered through nearly seven years of putting up with 'Perfect Potter' before at last finding a fault to exploit in the boy hero. But at what cost?

He looked over at Granger; her chest heaved as she tried to keep up with him, and he knew that although she hadn't started showing yet, the pregnancy was taking a toll. Surprisingly he'd never heard her complain or gripe or even say a word about her condition when unnecessary. It struck him that if he'd had to choose any girl in Hogwarts to be thrown into this situation with, it'd have been Granger, save for the fact that she was a Mudblood. If it were Pansy who was pregnant . . . He shuddered at the thought of her clinging on him, bellyaching about cravings or morning sickness or whatever else pregnant women went through.

It was true that she was insufferable and annoying and definitely too smart for her own good—but he had to admit that she was taking it all pretty well.

"I just can't wait to see the look on their faces when they find out that in Obliviating me, they were actually ensuring that I'd spend even more time with the one person they never wanted me to see again."

"Granger," said Draco, smirking again, "I think I'd even kiss you if only to see the look on Potter's face when he saw."

She laughed, sinking down to rest for a moment on the stone floor of the tower at the top of the staircase. The night was clear, the stars twinkling thousands of miles away. It wasn't even that cold up here, though he'd been sure that with the constant wind, the weather would be frigid. Instead, it was rather nice.

"Sorry," she chortled, gasping to regain her breath. "I was just imagining their faces. Harry—well, he'd be shocked, but it would be Ron who had a cow, really. And can you imagine the way McGonagall would gape?"

"And Snape," said Draco dryly, wondering exactly how much his Head of House knew about the situation. He had always been on pretty good terms with the man, though his father didn't approve. But that seemed to have changed over the holidays. They barely spoke anymore, save for generalities, and Draco had begun to suspect that Snape was in fact "in" on the plot, though probably not as involved as McGonagall or Dumbledore.

"So," said Granger, folding her hands in her lap and looking around the empty tower. "We're here. What exactly are we supposed to do?"

Draco didn't exactly know. If he and Granger had been her on the Astronomy Tower, what would they have been doing?

_Snogging_, perhaps?

He instantly pushed the unwanted thought away, but evidently Granger had thought of the same thing.

She pursed her lips, not meeting his eyes. "Malfoy, have you . . . I mean, do you ever wonder if . . . if we—"

"Yeah," said Draco, knowing exactly what she was talking of as he stalked to the railing and leaned against it, staring out at the dark grounds.

"I mean, I can't imagine it ever being possible, but Blaise was pretty sure we had something going on—romantic," said Granger demonstrating that annoying habit of hers to talk incessantly whenever she was nervous. "And combine that with the fact that Lavender and Parvati testified that I was showing less and less interest in Ron as the months progressed…"

Draco said nothing. If it _was_ true—but it couldn't be right. He hated the Muggleborn scum, always had . . . they couldn't have . . .no, it wasn't possible . . .

But in the memories that were slowly filtering back into his mind, they'd been friends. He couldn't deny the fact—they'd both seen the same scenes flashing through their minds. Scenes where they'd been laughing, talking, touching . . . nothing more than a hand on the shoulder or a good-natured punch from her when he'd said something derogatory about her friends, but there had definitely been something there: friendship. But more?

"You and me, boyfriend and girlfriend," said Granger, shaking her head. "No way."

"No way," agreed Draco quickly.

"I mean, we hate each other," she said softly, more to herself than to him.

"Right," said Draco confidently, but he felt as if he was trying to convince himself just as much as he was trying to persuade her.

He looked back at Granger; she was staring at him, an odd expression on her face, but she blushed as soon as their eyes met and looked away. "We should, uh, go," she said quietly.

"Yeah, sure," said Draco, wondering what exactly had just happened as she quickly jumped to her feet. "Sure."

* * *

"That's _it_?" exclaimed Parvati, widening her eyes dramatically. "You and Draco Malfoy went to the Astronomy Tower in the middle of the night, and all you did was _talk_?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. It was a Saturday afternoon and she and the Patil twins were holed up in their dormitory studying like mad. The teachers for some reason had overloaded the seventh years with homework that weekend; she'd only been studying for a few hours and already she could feel a headache coming on.

The advantage of the dormitory was that Ron and Harry couldn't come here, and since the last encounter with Ginny she and Padma had warded the door against anyone other than the four of them. No one could come in without permission, and the whole room was safeguarded against eavesdroppers. It almost felt as if she was living in a fortress rather than a dormitory, but Hermione didn't mind too much. It kept the Gryffindor traitors away.

"No, we didn't do anything more," she said, disgusted. "He's Malfoy, for goodness' sake. Honestly, you two, how can you ever think that something could happen between us, especially after the whole Christmas fiasco?"

"You don't even know what happened over Christmas," Padma reminded her. "You two could have something good going."

"Not possible," said Hermione firmly.

"He's not bad looking," said Parvati thoughtfully. "All I'm saying . . ."

"This conversation is finished," said Hermione firmly, desperately looking for another topic. "Hey, where's Lavender?"

"Lavender and I aren't speaking," said Padma stiffly.

"Why not?" This was news to Hermione.

Padma crossed her arms, staring pointedly out the window. "Lavender is going out with Seamus," Parvati jumped in, laying a sympathetic hand on Padma's arm.

Hermione blinked. "And that's important because—"

"Because Seamus was dating Padma a month ago, but she broke it off because he was too demanding. Now he's going out with Lavender to make her jealous, and Lavender is . . ."

"Going along with it because she's a slut," said Padma bitterly.

"I didn't say it," said Parvati, shrugging.

"I didn't know."

"It's OK, Hermione." Parvati smiled sympathetically at her. "You've had a lot going on recently."

"No, it's not OK," said Hermione, getting to her feet. "You've been there for me again and again over the last two months, and I can't even keep up with who you lot are dating." She suddenly realized that to her, Padma and Parvati's love lives had never mattered. She had always thought of the twins and Lavender as childish and immature and hadn't given a second thought to the fact that they might be going through things too . . .

"I'm such a self-centered jerk," she mumbled.

"No one blames you for being a little self-centered right now," said Parvati comfortingly. "Gosh, if I were in your shoes right now . . ."

"It's no excuse for not paying attention," said Hermione, staring at the ground. Then she looked up. "I'm really sorry, you two—I've been a lousy friend. I swear I'll do better." Then, more to herself than to them, "I promise."

* * *

When she and Malfoy finished their rounds several nights, it was his idea to go to the Room of Requirement for a while, and she didn't protest. Much as she hated to admit, spending time with him wasn't as horrible as she'd first imagined it was. Sure they argued and bickered, but it was much like the arguing she'd done with Ron, only Malfoy didn't get mad and stomp off. He simply argued until he finally shot something at her she couldn't throw back, then he'd wait and smirk while she came up with something say in retaliation.

Tonight, the game was insults. Hermione was sitting cross-legged in the overstuffed chair the Room of Requirement had provided next to a crackling fire, a heavy book on flora and fauna of South America propped in her lap. She was using it as a means to ignore him when he infuriated her beyond words.

"You're such a know-it-all twit," said Malfoy, and Hermione looked up.

"Oooh, that _hurt," _she said sarcastically. "I'm wounded! Honestly, Malfoy, could you _be_ any more immature?"

"I could try."

She made an infuriated noise in the back of her throat. "God, you're awful!"

He smirked. It must be his trademark, she thought. "Anything for you, Granger."

She had a flash of the two of them sitting in an empty classroom, comfortable on the two chairs she'd conjured up, their books spread out before them. Neither was getting much studying done, however, due to the constant banter, but she didn't mind . . . it was just good to spend time with him . . .

Hermione blinked. A look at Malfoy, and she knew he'd seen it too. The memories were returning all the time now; unfortunately, few proved to be useful. A snippet of friendly conversation here, an argument there, bits of them studying, talking, laughing, patrolling, even a little of Blaise, but nothing to explain why she was pregnant and both were Obliviated. There wasn't even anything to back up the theory that their relationship had been more than just casual friendship.

She bit her lip, leaning her head back against the back of the chair. Nothing made sense. But at least they were farther along in their search than before. Still, not knowing was driving her mad . . .

Sometimes, she would remember bits of her and Malfoy fighting, but not good naturedly, either. This was comforting; there actually _had _been a time when they were enemies, but this news left her wondering when the transition had been made. No memories of exactly _how_ they'd become friends had returned yet.

Her stomach gave an unpleasant lurch and Hermione dove at the glass of ice water the Room of Requirement had provided, gulping down a mouthful in hopes that her stomach wouldn't revolt . . .

Fortunately, it seemed to work wonders. Her stomach growled, but settled, leaving her relieved and a bit breathless. She'd vomited enough in the past two months and a half to last her a lifetime. Hermione leaned back against her chair carefully.

"Are you OK?" asked Malfoy, and surprisingly enough he sounded as if he meant it.

But for some reason, those three words were the end of Hermione's proverbial rope.

"Of course I'm not OK," she snapped at him, her voice rising. "I'm sick to my stomach, I can hardly carry my own book bag anymore, in a month or so I'm going to get fat, and my own friends are hiding a secret from me that could and probably will change my life forever; do I _look_ like I'm OK?"

Malfoy wisely chose not to reply.

But she wasn't finished yet. Jumping to her feet, she began to pace, stopping only to emphasize her points and wag her finger in Malfoy's very surprised, dumbstruck face.

"Once more, I'm in no mood to deal with your arrogant attitude—you think you're the victim here. You act like all of this is _my_ fault, and that every time you spend time helping me you're being so bloody noble and self-sacrificing. All you care about is your reputation."

She lowered her voice, staring unseeingly into the fire. "You're not the victim here, Malfoy. _I_ am. In a couple of months, you can go home and forget this ever happened. Me, on the other hand . . . I'm only eighteen, and I'm going to have a baby. My life will never be the same again, but you . . ." She laughed bitterly. "You can go right back to your mansion and marry rich and forget all about this whole sodding mess . . ."

Hermione didn't even know how to stop herself. She felt tears in her eyes and turned away so he wouldn't see them, hugging herself tightly. "In another month I'm going to start showing, and then people will talk—rumors will fly . . . You know as well as anyone that the girl is always the one to blame, and I haven't done anything at all to deserve this! It's not my fault I got this way. I never asked to be thrown into this whole mess, I never wanted to lose a whole semester of memories, I never asked my friends to betray me . . ."

And then, the realisation struck her so hard it nearly knocked the wind out of her. "Oh, god," she whispered. "I'm _pregnant."_

She was crying and shaking before she realised it, right there in the middle of the Room of Requirement with Draco Malfoy watching, but she didn't care . . . nothing mattered anymore . . .

Instantly Malfoy was standing next to her looking stricken. "Granger, don't cry . . . it'll be OK . . . oh, don't go all emotional on me . . . bloody hell."

He reached for her, hesitantly, as if he was afraid she was made of glass and she'd shatter at a single touch; then his hand came to rest on her shoulder. "Don't cry, Granger," he said again. "Hermione."

For some odd reason, when he said her name, it felt . . . right, somehow, but she hardly had time to digest this thought before she'd done the unthinkable—she buried her face in his shirt and sobbed.

For a moment, he just stood there, still as a statue, but then, slowly, his arms came up and encircled her shoulders.

And she remembered.

* * *

Draco Malfoy had never felt more uneasy and awkward in his life. He was a Malfoy! He didn't get flustered or embarrassed, but he had never had a girl cry on him before. Especially not no-nonsense Granger. When she'd thrown herself at his chest, he hadn't known what to do or how to act—whether he should push her away coldly or give in to his brain that was telling him to comfort her because a small part of him knew that she was right . . .

But before he could scarcely think, his arms moved almost mechanically to rest on her back, and he was instantly he was thrown into another memory—only this one was very different than the ones before . . .

_He was headed down the corridor; it was getting late, and the torchlight was making odd shapes on the stone walls. Suddenly, he heard a noise from one of the abandoned classrooms, and immediately changed his direction; he slammed open the door to the classroom expecting to find several Hufflepuffs snogging or something, but his sharp words died on his lips when he saw who the perpetrator was._

_It was Granger; she was all alone, sitting on the desk with her back to him and her knees pulled tightly to her chest. He knew it was her—her hair was even bushier than usual. In the second it took Draco to recover his composure, he noticed that she had no books with her; Potter and Weasel weren't to be seen. Her shoulders were shaking, and for some reason the sight unnerved him. _

"_Oh, it's only you," he said waspishly. "All alone, Granger? Did your pathetic friends finally come to their senses and abandon you?"_

_Her back stiffened for only a second before slumping again. Slowly, she uncurled herself and dropped heavily to the floor before turning to look at him—rather through him. There was a dazed, disbelieving look on her face as she stared unseeingly at the space behind his head. Her face was red and puffy, streaked with tears, and her clothes were grubby, as if she hadn't changed in days. Draco unknowingly took a step back._

"_Granger?"_

_She just stood there. Cautiously Draco took a step closer, and then another one. He had almost reached her when suddenly rushed at him, her arms flailing. She began to hit him with her fists, crying and sobbing, "It's your fault! It's all your bloody fault!"_

_Stunned, he stumbled back a little before finally catching her wrists and holding them away from him to keep her from swinging at him again. "What the hell . . . Granger, have you gone nutters?"_

_She didn't seem to hear him; she was still shaking her head and crying. "It's all your fault—their fault . . . They're dead . . . DEAD . . ."_

_Something cold wrapped around his heart. "Who died?" he asked, fearing the answer, but having to know all the same. That very morning, his father had talked to him through the Floo, and had been very pleased about something, though what he was so happy about Draco hadn't a clue. A feeling of dread was growing in his stomach. "Who died?" he repeated, louder._

"_They're gone . . . I'll never, ever see Mum and Dad again and it's all your bloody fault . . ."_

_She sagged against him, almost catatonic, and for lack of a better option, Draco pulled her upright and set her in a desk chair, then pulled his own chair up and sank into it. Granger continued to sob as Malfoy wondered what exactly had happened. Had one of the professors brought her the news? Of course Voldemort had been involved, but it didn't strike Draco as normal for the Dark Lord to strike at a lowly Mudblood's Muggle parents, no matter how close the girl was to Potter. He wondered if his father had had something to do with it, then decided he'd rather not know. _

_Let her blame it on the Death Eaters in general._

_Granger's sobs decreased, and as she began to come to herself, she suddenly noticed him there. "Get away from me."_

"_Gladly," he said sharply, but he didn't exactly feel right about leaving her here in this condition. He wasn't even sure if she could get back to the dormitory like this. "Granger, go see the school nurse."_

"_I'm perfectly fine," she snapped. "Now get out, you Death Eater bastard."_

_Something inside of him snapped, and in a second he had jumped to his feet and stared her full in the face. "I am NOT a Death Eater, Granger. See? Here's your proof." And he shoved up his left arm sleeve and waved the mark-free extremity under her nose._

_Granger stared at it for a long second before having the decency to look ashamed, even through the fountain she was producing. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I just assumed . . ." But the tears were welling back up in her eyes; she gulped as they spilled out of her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. "It can't be real . . . they can't be dead . . ."_

_And much as he'd resented her unfounded accusation, he couldn't just leave her there, by herself, not after just receiving the news that her own parents had died. So he closed the distance between them and awkwardly put an arm around her shoulder. "It'll be alright, Granger. It'll be alright."_

"Shit," whispered Draco.

In a second, Granger had pushed away from him. "God," she whispered disbelievingly, staring unseeingly ahead. "They're dead."

And now Draco knew why she'd seemed so flippant every time they'd discussed her parents' deaths—it was because during her period of grief, he'd been there in one way or another to comfort and help her. When the Obliviators had done their work, they'd done a hasty job, simply erasing every memory in his mind of Granger over the last year, rather than just the ones that would incriminate people in the long run—the memories pertaining to the Christmas incident.

So a half hour later, when she'd cried herself out and ruined his perfectly nice shirt, he found himself guiding her back to her dormitory, walking slowly so she didn't fall. She could hardly function on her own anyway. They reached the Fat Lady who stared at them oddly. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," snapped Draco. "Now, let me in!"

She swung open—Heads were allowed in any Common Room, even those of different houses, and they weren't required to produce a password on many occasions.

Thank god the Common Room was empty. He dragged her through the maze of high-backed chairs and couches and up the stairwell to the girls' dorm—another perk of being a Head was the fact that stairways didn't turn to ice when he walked on them. Finally reaching her dormitory, he tried to enter, but it was locked—probably Granger had warded it.

Draco Malfoy, reduced to knocking rather than barging. What _was_ this world coming too?

There was some mumbling from the other side of the door, and then sleepy footsteps approached. Parvati's face appeared in the crack of the door. "Draco _Malfoy?_" she said disbelievingly, and then the door was pulled open to reveal an identical face—her twin sister.

He frowned. "Aren't you a Ravenclaw?"

Padma and Parvati looked at each other, and were about to reply when then they caught sight of Hermione.

"What did you do to her?!" Padma exclaimed, darting forward to "rescue" Hermione from Draco's grip. He gladly let her go.

"I didn't do anything, you idiotic, self-centered . . ." he began, but didn't get to finish his sentence because they were both ignoring him.

"Hermione . . . Hermione? Are you alright?"

The Head Girl didn't respond as the twins pulled her through the door and into the room. A few seconds later, Padma's head appeared again. "OK, Malfoy, tell me what happened," she said in a business-like tone.

"She remembered," he said dully.

"Everything?"

"Just the parts about grieving for her parents," he replied and her eyes widened.

"Oh," she breathed. "That's why she's so catatonic."

"Yeah," he mumbled. "You lot will take care of her?"

Padma nodded. "Don't worry. She's in good hands."

Draco turned to high-tail it out of there, but then something odd struck him. "Doesn't she have another dorm mate too? Where's Brown?"

For some reason Padma's face immediately hardened. "I have no idea," she said icily. "And I don't want to know."

Draco frowned, but she didn't seem to want to elaborate, so he turned to go.

"Hey, Malfoy," Padma called softly, and he turned. She was looking at him with an odd, softer expression now, one that he didn't much like. "Thank you."

"Save your thanks; next time I might not be so compassionate," he snapped before turning on his heel and stalking away.

**A/N: **Here's another chapter for you. Wow, guys, 200 reviews! I'm honored. Hopefully this chapter brings them a step closer to solving the mystery and a step closer to impending romance . . . Some people have commented that Malfoy isn't as "bad" as he is in the books so I'll say only this: I'm under the firm impression that he's not the heartless bastard some fanfiction stories make him out to be.

Did you hear about the HBP actor dying? I feel bad, but I was just so relieved that it wasn't one of the main characters (Snape, Malfoy, Harry, Hermione, etc.)

You know what I want now (besides a large Papa Johns pizza, tickets to see _Indiana Jones,_ and a decent guy to date for once)


	12. Watcher

"So, where do they think you are today?"

Hermione looked up from her Ancient Runes textbook. "Tutoring Lavender in Transfiguration," she said, reaching for another bagel.

It was Sunday morning, and they'd met in the Room of Requirement to study. Her Arrithmancy had piled up far too long and she had twenty pages of ancient texts to translate for Runes. Surprisingly enough, Draco had been thoughtful enough to bring bagels and coffee—just what she needed.

"You made sure she wouldn't be seen for a few hours?"

He really hadn't needed to ask. She grimaced. "Lavender's never around anymore, which is odd, because I see Seamus all the time . . ."

Draco frowned. "That _is_ odd," he said, but didn't pursue the topic any further, for which Hermione was glad. She had always hated gossip with a passion—especially since Lavender had let it slip that some older students had kept a bet running ever since her third year as to who she'd date first: Ron or Harry. In the end, neither had won out, and by now most of the school had noticed her gradual alienation from her former best friends.

"So, where are you?"

"The Rise and Fall of Atlantis, chapter two," said Hermione, bending her head again to pour over the text.

"Sounds fascinating." Draco's voice had a decisively sarcastic note. Wait—since when had she begun referring to him as 'Draco' in her mind?

Probably ever since he'd called her Hermione.

It'd been a week since that night when her memories of her parents' deaths had come flooding back all at once. She hadn't been able to attend school the next day; Parvati and Padma had escorted her to the Hospital Wing where she'd spent a couple of nights recuperating. Madame Pomfrey thought Hermione was having a breakdown related to the stress of the pregnancy. Ron and Harry thought it was related to her heavy class load. Only Draco and her dormmates knew the truth.

For no reason at all, she smiled. He'd been something she would have never expected from a Malfoy—sweet. He'd visited her daily while she'd been in the infirmary, coming at odd times to avoid being caught, sometimes sitting with her for hours.

"Well, that proves it, Granger," announced Draco, and she jerked out of her reverie. He was smirking at her from his seat on the rug as he leaned casually against the edge of the sofa. "You're raving mad."

For a moment, Hermione was speechless, gaping at him like a dead fish. "Speak for yourself!" she sputtered

"I wasn't the one smiling like a lunatic for no reason at all."

"I was not—"

"Were you thinking about Weasel shoving his tongue down your throat? Because _that_ in my opinion is highly disturbing . . ."

"I'm holding hot coffee, Malfoy."

"When you were in the hospital wing, sometimes in your sleep you'd mutter Weasley's name."

"You came while I was _asleep?"_ Hermione shrieked. "You pervert!"

"In case you don't remember, I've seen . . ."

"Yeah, yeah, you've seen me naked." Hermione rolled her eyes. "Big deal—you don't remember, and neither do I. In fact I don't even _want_ to remember."

"I resent that," began Draco. "I'm sure it was a highly enjoyable experience . . ."

"OK, OK, enough!" she cried, clapping her hands over her ears. "I'm having a hard enough time admitting that we . . . that we actually _did_ it, and right now I don't really want to imagine it . . . Please, different topic, Draco."

"All right, all right," he sulked, reluctantly turning back to the oversized library book on his lap and picking up his quill. "Don't get your knickers in a twist."

A few minutes of silence passed before Draco suddenly frowned. "Granger, if you use the rune for light in Ermide's Equation, wouldn't the variable be the rune for air?"

Hermione looked up, biting her lower lip as she thought. "The variable would be wind, because in this equation air is too generalized."

"But the rune for air should work better according to Fetter's Law . . ."

"But Ermide's Equation doesn't fall under Fetter's Law," said Hermione impatiently. "Look it up in your book."

"You're wrong there," Draco insisted.

She rolled her eyes. "Ermide's Equation was written outside the boundaries of the usual laws for runes," she explained, tossing her hair.

"Look, woman," he began, but she cut him off.

"For the last time, _look it up_. You'll see that I'm right."

Three reference books and a furious argument later, he'd had to admit that she was correct, but at the cost of his good mood. Draco sulked as Hermione gloated for about another hour before he caught a tiny mistake in her translation and the balance was once again restored.

* * *

It was two nights later that they met again to study in the Room of Requirement. This time, the task at hand was a two foot Transfiguration essay McGonagall had only given them one night to write. The conversation flowed easily, coming and going as they studied and talked in turn. Then:

"Has it ever occurred to you," asked Draco suddenly, "that there's only one way to know if we really were together or not? Before, I mean."

Hermione looked up at him uncomprehendingly, her quill still dangling from her fingertips. "What do you mean?"

It wasn't as if the question hadn't been in her thoughts—hardly a day went by that she didn't wonder if they'd ever been romantically involved before she'd become pregnant and the whole Memory Charm fiasco had occurred. But usually, it was a "taboo" topic.

Draco now set down his book, a new light entering his eyes as he watched her. A smirk played at the corner of his mouth. "Come on, Granger. Think. You'll figure it out."

She furrowed her brow, not failing to notice that he'd now risen from his chair and was slowly crossing the room. "I don't get it . . ."

Draco didn't reply, but his smirk grew larger. He was now very close; he gracefully lowered himself onto the couch next to her and began slowly scooting closer.

And then, Hermione got it. Her eyes widened as she stared disbelievingly at him. "No."

Draco only paused for a second. "Why not?"

"Because I am _not_ going to let you kiss me just to spark a memory!" She pulled away, shuddering. "Eew."

Draco looked hurt. "I'm not a bad kisser, Granger."

"I don't care if you're the best kisser since Louis the Lover in the fourteenth century."

"It'd only be one! Then we'd know for sure whether you were into me or not."

"I was NEVER into you!"

"That's what you think," he said, a smirk signifying that the old confidence was filtering back into his demeanor. "But there's only one way to find out."

She hesitated on the brink of decision; much as she wanted to know the truth about their past, the repulsion of the mere idea of kissing a _Slytherin_ was too great.

"No."

"You're just saying that by default," said Draco insistently, scooting just a centimeter closer. "You want me, you know you do, Granger."

"In your dreams!"

"Kiss me, and if you're good, you might get to star in some of mine."

"I did _not_ want to hear that."

Draco sighed. "Come on, Granger. Don't be stubborn. I promise, it'll be short. You know it's the only way."

She bit her lip, not looking at him, but he must have known that she was beginning to weaken. "Just one kiss, Granger. That's all."

"Damn right it'll just be one," she muttered, and immediately he brightened.

"Just one," he promised.

"And there will be no use of tongue," she said fiercely.

Draco looked a little surprised, as if he hadn't expected her to even know about French kissing. "I swear," he said, grinning at her.

Then, before she even had time to protest or to move away, he closed the distance, swept down and kissed her.

Maybe Draco had thought that she'd back out. But Hermione didn't even have time to be outraged. Well, that's not true. For a split second, she was outraged, even angry enough to slap him or better yet, punch his nose, but only for a second, because next she was swept away with a flood of feelings and emotions she'd never, _ever_ imagined before.

And before she could process the fact that Draco _Malfoy_ was actually _kissing _her, her hands moved up to his shoulders of her own accord, and she returned the kiss with escalating enthusiasm, trembling as his tongue teased her bottom lip.

All too soon—or maybe it had been too long, she couldn't tell for sure—he started to pull away, looking a little confused. "S-sorry," he muttered. "Guess I got carried—"

He didn't have time to finish the sentence, because Hermione launched herself at him again. Who cared about reason? It had been a hell of a long time since she'd had _fun. _Everything else in life was going wrong—the baby, the memory charms, her exile from her friends, her parents' deaths. It was time for _something_ to go right.

Draco didn't protest. He pulled her close, one hand on her waist, one hand on the back of her neck, as his mouth ravished hers. She felt lightheaded and excited and bold and brave all at the same time as she kissed him repeatedly.

Finally, he pulled back, and reluctantly she did too. "I—I didn't remember," Draco panted.

"Me neither," said Hermione. "So maybe we weren't . . ."

"Or maybe it wasn't the right place," he said quickly, straightening his shirt a little. She smiled; he was _so_ vain, but suddenly, it seemed more like an endearing quality rather than an annoying one. "Maybe we should just try kissing somewhere else and the memories will return . . ."

"Yeah," she said breathlessly. "Somewhere else. Maybe a broom closet or in the library or in a deserted classroom . . ."

And now, at last, she had discovered the beauty of being Head Girl. And the advantages of wanting to kiss the Head Boy. They could do it anytime, anywhere.

"What are you waiting for?" she demanded, before turning and marching to the door, Draco trailing along behind as if on an invisible leash.

* * *

So they kissed. In six or seven broom closets, inside the deserted library on several different aisles, in the Charms, Transfiguration, and Muggle Studies classrooms.

But it wasn't until the Astronomy Tower that either of them had the faintest inkling of a memory.

"It's so gorgeous," Hermione observed, glancing at the sky as she regained her breath from the climb. Tonight the sky was obscured by clouds, but the full moon created a surreal effect on the landscape below.

"Not as beautiful as you," said Draco, and she was surprised. So far all he'd done was kiss her. He hadn't said anything else—but he had sounded as if he meant it . . . did he mean it? Was she just another girl to snog, or was there something there between them, something that had been so tiny and obscure that she, the queen of all analysts had missed it . . .

But all thoughts fled her brain as he leaned down to kiss her again, more softly this time. His kisses left her trembling, but this time, she suddenly remembered in blinding clarity, the last time he'd kissed her, and it was such a shock that she gasped and pulled away.

They'd been up there, on the Astronomy Tower, patrolling one night. Just talking, nothing more. The moon had been just a sliver in the sky, but the stars had been so bright and so close that she'd almost felt as if she could reach out and touch one. And then, perhaps caught up in the magic of the moment, Draco had leaned over and kissed her gently, and for a split second, she'd kissed back before coming to her senses.

"_Draco . . ."_

_He had pulled away too and was watching her intently. Hermione flushed. "I'm sorry," she began, then stopped, her confliction of feelings rendering her wordless for a moment. "I don't know what to say. I . . . I can't . . . it's not right, somehow."_

"_Why not?"_

_His voice was gentle, and she shivered—not because of the night air, either. "We're friends—good friends—and I like Ron . . .or at least I think I do. Oh, Merlin, I don't know . . ."_

"_No worries," he said, but she could hear the disappointment in his voice. "Friends we'll stay."_

And he hadn't brought it up ever again. Or at least, she didn't think he had.

Once again, Draco was watching her intently, the same look in his eye that had been there four months ago, when he'd kissed her on that cool November night. He was the perfect gentleman, of course, waiting for her consent or refusal to continue—or maybe he was asking for an even bigger decision.

When she didn't reply, he still didn't speak, didn't touch her, didn't even move. Hermione was flooded with a rush of conflicting emotions and thoughts—she'd refused him before, months ago on this very tower, but at that time she was scared of being seen with a Slytherin, unsure of her own feelings for Ron Weasley, and insecure about herself. Now, things had changed. She wouldn't dream of dating Ron, her perspective of Gryffindor and Slytherin had been radically changed, and with all her closest friends stripped away, she'd begun a journey of self-discovery and self-actualization. But the decision she was being forced to make right now—this was huge, and she was confused . . .

"Is it Weasley?" asked Draco, still staring straight at her, an unreadable look in his eyes. "You still like him."

"No, no!" Hermione was jerked out of her reverie. "No," she said again, "I could _never_ like Ron!"

"Then what is it?" he asked quietly.

Hermione closed her eyes. "I don't know . . . Draco, I don't know anything right now . . . I mean, if this snogging _is_ leading to something more, what if a relationship complicated things? I mean, I'm pregnant, we can't remember . . . our lives are so screwed up right now, and I don't even know if you raped me or not . . ."

"Do you really think I'd do something like that?"

The question startled her. She looked up at him, wide-eyed. "No," she said slowly, honestly. "No, I don't think you would have. But can you imagine what a complication a relationship with _you_ of all people would create right now? We're having a hard time keeping our friendship a secret, and what if someone found out? You and me, on top of all the emotional issues and the pregnancy . . ."

"Hermione," said Draco bravely, "You talk too much."

Then he leaned over and kissed her softly, and the last thought of reason fled her brain as she automatically kissed him back, sliding one hand up his chest, slipping the other around his neck, tilting her head to gain better access to his mouth.

It was like heaven; the smell of his cologne, the feel of his hand resting gently on her back, the way his fingers were playing with her hair, the amazing things his tongue was doing to her mouth, the gentle breeze wafting up from the lake, and the light of the moon reflecting in his eyes. The enchantment swelled up and overtook her; she banished her last fear and let herself become caught up and carried away in the magic of the moment.

And she wondered why it'd taken her so long to see what was right in front of her eyes.

* * *

Deep in the basement of Hogwarts, one professor was still awake, sitting at his desk and correcting a stack of essays by the light of a dozen or so enchanted candles. Every so often, Severus Snape would lay down his finely crafted quill and lean over to glance at a larger piece of parchment spread over several books. On it, in intricate detail, was a complete map of Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft: corridors, towers, dungeons, classrooms, closets, dormitories, common rooms, offices—it was all there. The map included over a thousand labeled dots: teachers, students, even ghosts. But tonight only two dots had Severus's full and complete attention—the green dot of Draco Malfoy, and the red dot of Hermione Granger.

The map had been a brilliant idea's of Lupin's, shared during the werewolf's first and only year of teaching. Severus thought it had been a very good arrangement—he'd brewed Wolfsbane, and Lupin had offered himself as a source of handy spells and charms, one such charm being the creation of a map that would allow him to keep track of all his Slytherins from the confinement of his office. What Lupin didn't know was that once he'd taught Severus the basics of creating such a map, Severus had gone a step further, adding spells allowing him to see _all_ the students and faculty of Hogwarts with a simple tap of his wand. He finally understood how that awful Potter boy and his ragtag friends had managed to avoid so many detentions in their later Hogwarts years.

But was not the time to be bringing out and dusting off old grudges. Right now, he was only concerned with what the map was showing him. The dots of Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy were in the center of the Astronomy Tower, but what's more, the dots were so close together that he could hardly tell where one ended and the other began.

It seemed that at last the Lioness and the Snake had come together.

He highly doubted that they were doing anything more than moderate snogging, but frankly, he didn't care. What was important was the fact that Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy were now romantically involved. There was no going back in their journey to discover the truth.

Severus pulled a blank sheet of parchment from a desk drawer. Dipping his quill in the ink, he paused, hand poised over the empty page as he considered what to write. At last, he had the perfect message.

Surveying his work, he decided it would suffice. He dried the page with a charm, and then another charm ensured that neither of the seventh years would be able to trace his handwriting back to him. Folding up the parchment, Severus slipped it into his pocket and resolved to find a school owl the following day.

And then he did something he rarely did—he smiled.

**A/N: **There you go. An update. It's sort of a birthday present to you all from me, though in actuality it's _my_ birthday...lol. I'm 20! Can you believe it? I went clubbing last night, hung out with some friends, thought very wishfully of a year from now when I'll FINALLY be legal... I even got up the courage to sing "Oops, I Did It Again" on karaoke...


	13. The Message

The Great Hall buzzed with activity. Dinner was generally the most attended meal of the day, and tonight was no exception. Dirty-faced Hufflepuffs were pouring in from what seemed to have been a particularly rough Quidditch practice, Ravenclaws were grouped around a prefect who was holding a suspicious looking cauldron, and Slytherins were slinking in and joining their friends at the House table, more by the minute. More than usual, Hermione noticed, but a glance at the Head Table told her why—tonight, Professor Snape was attending supper, and his House seemed to hold him in high regard, treating him with even more respect than any of the other Houses treated their Heads, Gryffindor included.

She always wondered what inspired their devotion; perhaps there was more to the brooding Potions professor than met the eye.

"Hermione. Hermione!"

She suddenly realized that Ron was waving his hands in front of her face.

"Haven't you been listening to a word I've said?" he inquired, scowling.

"Sorry," muttered Hermione sheepishly. "Go on."

Fortunately, Ron looked satiated. "I was just saying that it's a shame you were sick today. McGonagall let us do a bit of human transfiguration and I turned Harry's fingers into twigs."

"Sounds fun," she said vaguely, but missing class had been intentional on her part. Human transfiguration was contraindicated for pregnant women, and McGonagall hadn't put up a fuss when she'd hastily excused herself, complaining of a headache.

Suddenly Harry, Ron and Ginny visibly stiffened. "What?" asked Hermione, then turned around to see what they were staring at.

Draco Malfoy had risen gracefully from his seat and was approaching the Gryffindor table, his silver Head Boy badge flashing against his spotless charcol school robes.

"What the hell does he want?" Ron snarled, and Hermione resisted the urge to smack him on the head. Ah, well. It was a nice thought.

But before she had time to tell them to behave, Draco was there. "Granger, a word, if you please."

"Sod off, Malfoy," said Harry tightly, and Ginny nodded fiercely.

"Who made you the Head Girl's keeper?" challenged Draco, and by the glint in his eye, Hermione could tell he was truly enjoying it. "Protective there, Potter?"

"A bit," Harry began defensively, glaring at the Slytherin.

"Harry, I can handle it," said Hermione, shooting daggers at him and Ron with her eyes. She turned and scowled at Draco. "Make it quick, Malfoy."

Without a word, Draco turned and stalked toward the double doors. Hermione followed him, trying to appear annoyed and upset, but her curiosity was getting the better of her. Draco stopped next to the doors, far enough away that no one would be able to overhear. He leaned casually against the wall and smirked. "I got an interesting letter today."

She narrowed her eyes. "Is _that_ why you called me over? To read me a piece of mail from your mum?"

His smirk widened. "More fire, Granger. You hate me, remember? Act like it."

She crossed her arms and raised her voice high enough so the Ravenclaws closest would hear her words. "You're nothing but a filthy slacker, you arrogant prick!"

"That's more like it," said Draco. "Want to read the letter?"

"What could possibly be important enough that you couldn't wait until rounds tonight?" she grumbled, but stuck out her hand. He pressed a folded scrap of parchment into her palm.

She opened it. One line of perfectly scripted letters ran across the page, bearing a simple message.

_The answers you seek can be found only at Malfoy Manor._

Hermione read it three times before looking back up at Draco. "You know what this means?" she asked in a low voice.

"Enlighten me."

"Someone's on our side."

Draco's eyebrows shot up. "That's not the first thing that came to mind when _I_ read it. I was wondering why the bastard didn't tell us more if he obviously knows the truth. And the parchment is covered in enchantments that even Dumbledore couldn't break."

"How on earth are we going to get to Malfoy Manor?" wondered Hermione.

"We can talk about it tonight," Draco pointed out. "Right now we've got quite an audience."

Hermione looked over her shoulder; half the hall was staring unabashedly at the Head Boy and Girl, as if waiting to see who would win.

"Evil spawn from hell."

"Mudblood bookworm."

"Dim-witted idiot."

"Insufferably annoying wench."

"Ooh, now you've mortally wounded me!" Hermione said mockingly, rolling her eyes.

His smirk grew still wider, if that were possible, and he lowered his voice a bit. "You're rather attractive when you're mad."

It caught her off guard, and she paused, mid-insult.

Draco took a step closer. "I should just kiss you right here in front of everyone."

She regained her voice, and let out a horrified laugh. "Civil war would break out."

"Slytherins would win," he insisted arrogantly.

She laughed, then abruptly stopped when she remembered that they had an audience. "Cocky bastard."

"See you tonight?"

"Count on it," she said, before turning away and stalking back toward the Gryffindor table. The watching crowd had no way of knowing what had just been exchanged, but if anything she wanted them to think she'd had the last word.

* * *

The fire was burning low in the fireplace when he finally heard the doorknob turn. Draco was settled comfortably into a winged armchair with a copy of Advanced Potions spread on his lap—he hadn't really been paying attention, anyway—but when the door opened, he glanced up mildly as Hermione slipped inside and shut the door behind her.

"What in the name of Merlin were you thinking?" said Hermione, stomping across the room. "Talking to me in front of the entire school! Are you _trying_ to get us found out?"

Draco shrugged and returned to his book, indifferent.

"Harry and Ron grilled me for a half an hour after you left!" She sounded livid.

"Sorry."

Hermione sighed and flopped down into the nearest couch. "You could have blown our cover."

Draco twisted around to look at her. "And what exactly would have been so bad about that?"

Truth was, he was tired of the games, the midnight meetings, and the intrigue. He was tired of the way Potter and Weasley walked all over Hermione, and they didn't even know that she was pregnant. He wanted the truth, and in his mind, the quickest way to truth was to demand it from the liars.

She stared at him incredulously. "Do you know what the professors in this school are like? Between Dumbledore and McGonagall, we'd be in serious trouble. We don't even know yet why exactly we were Obliviated. Dumbledore is one of those annoying old codgers who wouldn't hesitate to Obliviate us again if he felt it was for our own good. And this time, he'd add a reasonable explanation for my pregnancy, so I'd have no reason to doubt my memories again."

Draco quickly sobered. "Right, I forgot about that."

"Try to remember next time," she said coldly.

"But still," Draco pressed on, leaning forward and studying her face, "eventually, you're going to have to tell them. Dumbledore knows you're pregnant, and he probably told his sniveling followers. What do they call themselves? The Order of the Phoenix?"

"He promised me he wouldn't say anything to them," Hermione insisted. But she didn't look as sure as before.

He snorted. "You really think that he'd keep a promise like that? Dumbledore's only human; he lies too."

Hermione didn't answer. She seemed to be thinking, though, and slowly, her face fell.

"We won't be able to keep us a secret much longer," said Draco quietly. "What are you going to say to your friends when you start showing?"

She glanced down at her still-flat stomach. Draco knew it would not remain so much longer. He might not be the most knowledgeable on these things, but he did know a bit about basic human anatomy and physiology. And he did know that the baby inside of her was growing. Quickly.

"If I can't find some efficient concealing charms, I don't know what I'll do," Hermione was muttering under her breath. "Perhaps I can start eating more—maybe Ron and Harry will just think I'm gaining weight . . ."

He was amazed at the lengths to which she'd go to keep her secret.

Draco sighed. He wanted to tell her not to worry, that it'd be fine—but he didn't know that. So instead, he lifted himself from the armchair and slid onto the couch next to her. "You know what, Granger? You worry too much," he said, in a low, sultry voice, his mouth close to her ear.

She shivered involuntarily. "Malfoy, pay attention," she muttered, sliding away from him. "We've got things we _need_ to worry about, like who sent that letter, and how on earth we're going to get to Malfoy Manor to recover the rest of the memories, and what I'm going to do once I start showing . . ."

"Like I said, you worry too much," he said easily, sliding closer. "We wait for the sender to show himself. It'd be near impossible to find him ourselves, and I rather think he's the sort who will appear when he feels like it. As for Malfoy Manor, my mother is in France, and my father is apparently running with the Death Eaters; Malfoy Manor will be empty over Easter Hols. We can go then. And for your stomach—well, I can't help it if you get fat."

It was risky, joking like this. But Draco felt his shoulders relax when she tried to slap him for the last remark. Draco caught her wrist gently and pulled her towards him.

Hermione squeaked, and Draco felt a smirk spreading across his face. They were mere inches away, now, and while he'd begun this in the hopes of getting her mind off the worries, suddenly his eyes were drawn to her mouth. Magnetized, he couldn't look away as she bit her bottom lip, a habit of hers when she was slightly nervous.

"Hermione," he commanded softly, and finally her resolve crumbled. When their lips met, she kissed him willingly, but just as it was starting to get good, she pulled away. He watched her, confused.

"I think it's high time we did some rounds," Hermione announced, jumping up from the sofa and heading toward the door. "Like the Heads are _supposed_ to, you know?" She stopped abruptly, turned around, and threw him a smirk worthy of Snape himself. "Coming?"

* * *

On the second floor, they passed Filch and Mrs. Norris, who eyed them suspiciously. It wasn't till they'd gone around the corner that Draco slammed her up against the wall; their lips crashed together, and she fought to keep up with him. He couldn't help himself; his hands seemed to be acting of their own accord, roaming everywhere—her face, her hair, her neck, her shoulders, her waist. He wanted to do more. But there was something there, something new. Something he had never experienced before—restraint, and respect.

He lowered his mouth to her neck, and she gasped, leaning into his touch as he kissed his way down to her collarbone. When he moved back up to capture her mouth again, he noticed that her cheeks were bright red. Was she embarrassed? No, perhaps just shy. He wondered how far she'd gone with a boy before.

Draco pulled away, smiling at her when she tilted her head to one side questioningly. "Walk with me," he said, taking her hand and lacing his fingers through hers.

So they walked down the dimly-lit halls in complete silence save for the occasional snore of a portrait and the soft scuffing of their shoes on the stone floors. It was nice; peaceful in an odd way.

"Nice night," remarked Draco.

"How would you know? You haven't been outside," said Hermione after a long moment.

"I wasn't talking about outside."

She coloured, and he inwardly felt pleased. When she was embarrassed, a nice rosy blush spread over her cheeks, and he liked it.

_I'm such a pansy,_ he thought. But he couldn't help it—somewhere along the line, he'd fallen for Hermione Granger.

_When on earth did this happen? _

Draco tried to think back to a specific day, but nothing specific was surfacing. The past was confusing, what with the old memories mixing with the new ones in his mind. It had probably happened as he'd begun to remember what had occurred last term. They'd been friends, but he knew that there had been more—at least on his side of things. When he'd kissed her the first time, up at the top of the Astronomy Tower, he'd felt her rejection deeply. He could remember vividly the waves of hot fury at Weasley for standing between him and Hermione. If her friendship hadn't meant so much to him, he'd have set out to give Weasel what he deserved.

Draco had no qualms about doing that now, however. Sure he was different, but not so different yet that he wouldn't beat Weasley and Potter to bloody pulp had he been given the opportunity. After what they'd done to Hermione, he'd probably never forgive them.

There it was again, that fierce protectiveness towards her. He didn't understand it; perhaps he would after the entirety of his memories returned. Perhaps not. There were other emotions he didn't completely comprehend either—tenderness, affection, friendship. _Desire._ That was a feeling he knew about. But never before had he desired a girl whom he respected.

"How do I know," she had asked, only a few days back, when they'd recklessly stolen a few moments mid-day to snog in a broom closet. Acting like fourth-years, he'd thought ruefully. Ah well. He'd taken advantage of the moment, but then she'd pulled away and looked at him seriously. "How do I know I'm not just another girl to you?"

Her words had been like a slap. She wasn't just another girl—she was special. Surely she knew that. Surely she understood how he felt.

He knew her insecurities. But he'd hoped that she'd trust him enough to believe that when he kissed her, whispered affectionate names in her ear, he meant it.

"This _is_ different," he said, stumbling over his words, wanting her to understand. "I'm different. This—everything, all of this, has changed me, changed you. You're different too."

"What makes me different?" she'd said softly, staring up at him.

"You're my friend."

And friends they were. If nothing else, the pregnancy, the mystery, the lost memories had brought them together, but he knew there was something stronger there—a friendship that had been built on trust over a period of months, a relationship that could survive disasters and memory charms.

Suddenly Hermione stopped. "Ssssh."

Draco listened. Grunts and moans were faintly audible from the closed door leading to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

"Going to break it up?" he asked her, raising his eyebrows.

"Of course," she said, widening her eyes. "We used to love doing this, remember? Breaking up snogfests on rounds and taking House points?"

He did remember. They'd even begun to purposely look for the haunts of Hogwarts' most scandalous couples. Some of the things they'd seen, well, suffice it to say that Draco could have gone his whole life without that knowledge; still, it was a fun pastime. Some of the couples they'd found together had provided them with joke material for weeks on end.

"I certainly hope it's not Crabbe and Eloise again," muttered Hermione, pulling out her wand and reaching for the handle.

Fortunately, it was not Crabbe and Eloise Midgen. Unfortunately, it was an even worse couple, if that was remotely possible. Justin Finch-Fetchley was being smothered by a very sweaty, half-naked Millicent Bulstrode.

Hermione choked, stuffing her fist in her mouth; Draco wasn't sure whether she was trying to keep from vomiting, or laughing. Maybe both. Sighing, he cleared his throat loudly. "Break it up!"

Justin finally extracted himself from Millicent, who didn't seem to want to let him go. He grabbed his glasses and outer robes off the nearby desk and dashed for the door, looking immensely grateful. "Ten points from Hufflepuff," called Draco as the boy made his escape. He turned to Millicent, who didn't look a bit embarrassed. "And ten from Slytherin as well," he told Millicent coldly.

When the room was finally vacated, Hermione burst into uncontrollable giggles. "Oh, god," she gasped at last. "Did you see the look on his face? Poor bloke, he's going to need therapy after that one."

"_I'm _going to need therapy," muttered Draco.

"On to the next hot spot," said Hermione eagerly, tugging on his hand.

They worked their way down the castle, finding two more couples before reaching the dungeons. Hermione's mood seemed drastically improved, and Draco made a mental notation. Next time she was depressed, he'd just take her out and let her take House points from poor, unsuspecting students. He guessed that she liked the power rush.

"Ugh, I hate the dungeons," said Hermione, shivering and unconsciously moving closer to him. "I don't know how you stand it down here."

"You get used to it, I suppose," said Draco. "Our Common Room suits us. It's decked out with the typical Pureblood décor, so for many of the students, myself included, it's like an extension of our own homes. Haughty paintings, tall fireplaces, stiff chairs, heavy draperies, shelves of books. . ."

Hermione shook her head. "Not me. I have to have windows," she said. "Of course the books would be perfectly fine . . ." A dreamy smile crossed her face, and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The thought crossed his mind that he'd like to see the expression on her face when she saw the extensive personal library in Malfoy Manor.

"So I'm guessing that when you graduate from Hogwarts you're going choose a profession somewhere along the lines of knowledge and learning?"

Hermione looked thoughtful. "I've considered teaching," she admitted. "But perhaps I'd be better suited to spell development." She made a wry face. "Back in the day, Ron and Harry wanted to be Aurors, and they'd convinced themselves that I was coming along for the ride."

"Typical," muttered Draco.

"But recently I haven't had a whole lot of time to think about careers," she said. "Well, really not since my fifth year. The return of Voldemort means a lot more to us Muggle-borns than anyone realises, I think. We won't have a life until he's defeated, not with all the attacks going on. We aren't safe. The half-bloods and purebloods have less to worry about. Well, unless you're Harry."

Draco hadn't really thought about it. His path was already set in stone, thanks to his father and family loyalties. He'd never really imagined life without the Dark Lord. If Potter really could defeat the Dark Lord, how would life change?

"You really think Potter will win?"

Hermione looked worried. "He may be a git, but he's gone through more than anyone I know," she said quietly. "He's faced Voldemort five times already and survived. I'm thinking his chances are pretty good, but I still worry that when the time comes, he won't be ready. We've got to end the war soon. So many people have died already."

Draco silently agreed. A knot formed in his stomach when he thought of what awaited him after his graduation from Hogwarts.

"What about you?" she said, trying to turn the conversation back to safer, less depressing waters. "What career are you going to go for?"

Draco grinned. "Why don't you guess?"

"I hate this game," sighed Hermione. "Um, metaphysics?"

Draco snorted.

"Maybe I'm way off. You want to work with magical creatures. Hippogriffs, to be exact."

Draco groaned. "Give it a rest, won't you?"

She laughed. "Dragons?"

"Hell, no."

"International Quidditch."

"Have you seen me play?" said Draco incredulously. "I probably could beat the Chudley Cannons, but no one else."

"You don't like Quidditch?"

"Not much. I enjoy flying, but being on the team wasn't really my choice. My father bought my way in, said he wasn't going to have a son who was too much of a pansy to play. Father was a Keeper in his day at Hogwarts."

"Oh," she said. "Sorry. I always thought you enjoyed it, if only to have more opportunities to insult Harry."

"Well, that was a perk."

Hermione laughed again; the sound was like bells. "I know," she said, grinning widely. "You want to tell fortunes, like Sibyl Trelawny."

Draco did his best "seer" voice. "I see _death _in your future, Miss Granger . . . as surely as the sun shall rise, your fate is inevitable . . ."

He liked making her laugh. It was strangely satisfying, knowing that he was taking her mind off her pregnancy, off the load of worries she carried every day.

"Um," said Hermione when she'd finished chuckling. "I can't see you wanting to teach, and I'm pretty sure you don't fancy hairstyling or dressmaking, so I'm going to go with a Potions Master."

Draco shook his head. "I don't particularly like Potions. You know that."

For a second, Hermione looked confused. "I do?" Then she nodded. "Sorry, all these returning memories are messing with my head." She was quiet for a moment, then said, "You like Arrithmancy. Banking?"

"Getting a little closer," hinted Draco.

"I give up!"

"I want to be a Curse-Breaker for Gringotts," he told her.

He was surprised when she looked genuinely pleased. "That's wonderful. No wonder you study so hard Ancient Runes, that class will come in handy."

"It's unlikely I'll ever do it, though," he said glumly.

"Why not?"

She really didn't know? Had she really come to the point where she considered him completely outside of the context of his Death Eater father and association with the Dark Lord? "My father is a Death Eater. What do you think I'll be expected to do when I finish?"

Her eyes widened, and a painful expression flashed over her face. "Oh, god. Isn't there any way to get out of it?"

"Not if I value my life," he said shortly.

She would have replied, but suddenly, they were both painfully aware of noises being issued from a broom closet nearby.

"I'm not in the mood anymore," she said distantly. "Go ahead."

All the fun had gone out of kicking careless couples out of broom closets, but Draco strode over to the door anyway, determined to make this quick. He flung open the door –and promptly halted in his tracks.

He knew this couple. Painfully well.

"Ah, Hermione," he said over his shoulder. "You're going to want to see this one to believe it."

She sidled up beside him, peering in over his shoulder, and instantly her mouth dropped. "Bloody hell!"

* * *

He knew it was risky, meeting her like this in the dead of night while the rest of Hogwarts presumably slept, but it was necessary. Never before, at least, as far as either knew, had there been an inter-house relationship like theirs. Brought together by an unlikely chain of events, bound together by the secrets they shared, and attracted to each other for many reasons, only one being the taboo that had been placed on relationships like theirs. If anyone knew . . .

But no one would know. Who would be patrolling the dungeons at this late an hour? Most of the prefects were too frightened to come down here. This was strictly Slytherin territory; anything could happen.

But he knew his way around these halls, and when she was with him, she was safe. So they'd planned their meetings carefully, and every minute spent together was precious. Sometimes they talked, but tonight, they both were craving physical touch, so he let himself go, if only for a few minutes.

The kiss was just beginning to get good. She clung to him, allowing him to press her against the wall as he gently stroked the exposed skin on her neck and shoulders. She tasted sweet, like honey; he broke the kiss to tease his lips along that sensitive hollow under her ear, and she moaned a little.

But then, suddenly the door was swung open, and he was blinded temporarily by the wandlight in his eyes. He pulled back; she threw up her hand to shield her face.

Then, that all-so-familiar voice called out to someone else, and a second later another black shape appeared in the doorway. "Bloody hell!"

There was a long, awkward pause; then Hermione spoke again. "Merlin, Lavender, what on earth are you doing?"

The blonde girl shifted uncomfortably, and Blaise was painfully aware of the blush spreading across his cheeks. Thank god his dark skin would hide the worst of it. "I should ask you the same question," said Draco Malfoy, who's face Blaise could finally make out. Both eyebrows were raised.

"We can explain," stammered Lavender.

"But first we'd appreciate it if you two would lower your wands," said Blaise, surprisingly calmly. He stepped forward, pulling Lavender along with him, out of the closet and into the drafty dungeon corridor.

Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy stood before them; Hermione looked pissed—her arms were crossed tightly across her chest, and she kept shooting glares at him and Lavender in turn. Draco, on the other hand, appeared to be mildly amused. His eyebrows were still threatening to disappear in his hairline, but he didn't look as if he'd break out the wand and start throwing curses anytime soon.

"What was that about?" began Hermione furiously. "Lavender? I thought you were with Seamus!"

Lavender's face darkened. "I snogged him once to get back at Padma for something she did to me a while back. Evidently, now we're sleeping together according to popular rumor. Who're you going to believe?"

Hermione had the good graces to look abashed. "You of course," she sputtered. "But you . . . and Blaise? Why didn't you tell me? Or at least your dormmates?"

"I'm not exactly speaking to them," said Lavender, tossing her hair. "And well, we just sort of figured that you and Draco had enough to worry about."

"Enough to worry about?" the Head Girl sputtered. Blaise sneaked a look at his best friend; Draco looked highly amused.

He decided to take matters into his own hands. "Listen, Hermione," he said, placing a hand on her arm. "You're pregnant. You've got a mystery the size of the Holy Grail on your hands. You've got maintain a cover, and all the sneaking around is beginning to get to both of you." He shot a significant look in Draco's direction. "I was worried that if you found out, you'd consider us a liability." Hermione squeaked, but Blaise held up a hand and she allowed him to continue. "Lav and I, well, we're not exactly a normal couple. Gryffindor-Slytherin relationships are highly conspicuous, and it might draw attention to both of you if people learned, besides the fact that both of _us_ would be in danger thanks to some of the more zealous Slytherins."

"We didn't mean to hurt you intentionally," said Lavender, hanging her head a little.

"But try to see it from our point of view," continued Blaise. "If you two were in a relationship, would you tell the rest of us?"

Evidently, it was the right—or else, the wrong—question to ask. Hermione's cheeks instantly turned pink, and her mouth opened and closed silently. Draco on the other hand looked perfectly poised, but a vein in his forehead jumped, a sure sign that for once, Blaise had hit the nail on the head.

"Oh, my god," breathed Lavender. "You're together, aren't you?"

"That's ridiculous," Hermione scoffed, but in two steps, Lavender had closed the distance and yanked back the high collar of the Head Girl's stiff white shirt. Hermione squeaked and tried to pull the collar back up, but the damage had already been done. He'd clearly seen the line of purple blotches.

"You've got hickeys!"

"They are not . . ."

"Don't deny it; I think I know a hickey when I see one," Lavender exclaimed, her voice rising.

Hermione, seeing no easy way out, decided to make her hasty exit. She latched onto Lavender's arm with a death grip and began marching toward the Gryffindor tower. "Five points from Gryffindor for breaking curfew."

"Wait, wait! You're not even going to let me tell him goodnight?" Lavender cried desperately.

"Do you _want_ me to make it more?"

"You're hurting my arm! Hermione Granger, you're one to talk, you've been snogging the Head Boy tonight . . ."

"Another five points . . ."

"Alright, alright! I'll shut up."

The two disappeared around the corner, and for a moment, the Blaise stood there, watching them go. Then he turned to study his friend's face. The corner of Draco's mouth was twitching.

"I'm not sure what you see in Lavender Brown, but I won't ask," said Draco dryly, starting to head in the direction of the Slytherin common room. Blaise followed, matching him stride for stride.

"What I see in Lavender Brown is my own business," returned Blaise stiffly. "Right now it looks like I'm not the only one who's had a recent revelation pertaining to girls."

"Five points from Slytherin."

"For what?" exclaimed Blaise indignantly, stopping in his tracks.

Draco smirked. "For getting caught, of course."

**A/N: Posted on 8 August 2008. Bloody hell, it's been over a month. Sincerest apologies. Next chapter, Malfoy Manor.  
**


	14. Fall for You

Although it was only March, the sun had decided to make an appearance. The weather outside, Hermione had to admit, was perfect, and she had a rather harsh case of spring fever that Tuesday afternoon as she sat in the Gryffindor Common Room hunched over her Transfiguration books. Parvati wasn't helping matters; she'd insisted that this time she'd actually study, but her resolutions were obviously flighty, thought Hermione as she observed the dark-haired girl flipping carelessly through the _CosmoWitch _magazine, occasionally commenting on styles and fashions.

Hermione inwardly sighed. At this rate, she'd never finish the assigned two foot essay. But how to explain the importance of NEWT's to someone who obviously could care less—that was the dilemma.

Fleetingly she wished that Hogwarts Heads were given their own private rooms. The Common Room was never a good place to get anything done; the library was a bit better, but either Ginny or one of her friends would be there and Hermione had no desire to run into any of them right now. Ron and Harry were off in detention, and for once in her life, Hermione actually felt gratitude towards the normally despised Potions professor. Four blissful Ron- and Harry-less hours were hard to come by.

She winced at a cramp in her side, and automatically her hand went to her stomach. For the most part, the potions she was taking worked, but sometimes she still felt the effects of morning sickness--and the effects of pregnency in general. She'd need to go see Madame Pomfrey soon for a checkup... She added the new task to her mental to-do list.

"Check out that shirt," said Parvati disdainfully, shoving the magazine under Hermione's nose. "Isn't it hideous?"

"Absolutely repulsive," said Hermione. "Listen, Parvati . . ."

"I know, I know, you've got to study," said Parvati rolling her eyes. "I'll leave you alone."

For about two minutes. Then the Indian girl was back, commenting on another piece of clothing or color of nail polish or hair style, Hermione wasn't sure what. She was doing her best to block out Parvati.

Suddenly the portrait hole flew open and Lavender flew through in a whirl of rustling robes, closely followed by Padma who hadn't even bothered to put on her extra set of Gryffindor robes. Hermione quickly scanned the Common Room, but there was no one else there.

"I don't get it," Parvati's Ravenclaw twin was saying, looking very frustrated. "You were with me all morning long, and then you just disappeared with no explanation."

"I told you," said Lavender, looking a little pale. "I was in the library."

"_I_ was in the library," snapped Padma. "If you'd been there I would have seen you! I searched the entire library for a book for that Transfiguration essay due tomorrow, and you _weren't there._"

Hermione stared at the two. Parvati's head had popped up, and she was listening as well. Lavender had apparently made up with her friends since that night Hermione and Draco had found her and Blaise together. At least, Hermione was pretty sure—the Patil-Patil-Brown trio was once more complete, and Lavender hadn't been disappearing as much. The friendship seemed to be strong once again. So before she had time to stop herself, Hermione blurted out, "You haven't told them?"

Then, she immediately clapped both hands over her mouth and turned a deep shade of crimson as both Patil heads snapped in her direction and Lavender turned even whiter. "Sorry," she squeaked, mortified. "I just assumed . . ."

"Told us what?" snapped Padma, turning back towards Lavender, a dangerous look on her face.

"Hermione's dating Draco!" shouted Lavender.

"_Lavender!"_

"You're _what?" _shrieked Parvati.

"Are you _serious?"_ cried Padma.

Hermione stared wordlessly at Lavender. She knew it was petty of her, but the next words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop them. "I had to pull Lavender and _Blaise_ out of a broom closet last week."

"Hermione had hickies on her neck!" Lavender retaliated

"_Really?" _squealed Parvati.

"It's about time you two got together," said Padma, putting her hands on her hips.

"How'd it happen?" demanded Parvati.

Hermione blushed, furious that her tactics hadn't worked in the slightest to get the attention off of her. "He, uh, suggested that we kiss to see if it sparked any memories."

Parvati squealed. "And?"

Her face was on fire. "It was kind of hard to stop."

"I knew it!" Parvati said, grinning widely. "I knew you two would come around eventually. But why didn't you tell us?

Hermione shrugged. "Timing, I guess," she said, ducking her head. Now that the secret was out, well . . .

She sighed. Then, she turned to the girls determinedly. "I need your help."

* * *

At last, Hermione could deny it no longer: her clothes no longer fit.

Her stomach was becoming tighter and rounder every day, no matter how hard she tried to suck it in. She'd taken to keeping her robes fastened when she wasn't in her dormitory or with Draco, and wearing her school shirts untucked, though even those were getting tighter.

She thought that no one had noticed until one evening when she came in to the dormitory and pulled off her outer robes, Lavender and Parvati gave each other a look then turned to Hermione.

"We hate to break the news," began Lavender, biting her lower lip.

"But you really, REALLY need to go shopping for maternity clothes."

"Or at least find some concealing charms to cover up your stomach."

"Is it that obvious?" Hermione was mortified.

"To us," said Lavender.

Parvati saw the stricken look on her face and took two quick steps toward her. "It's alright, Hermione! I'm sure no one else has noticed yet! I'm just saying that you need to start looking for some sort of charm to hide your . . . er, stomach."

"Soon," put in Lavender, nodding.

Hermione turned toward the mirror, lifted her shirt, and studied her stomach. "Oh my god," she murmured. "I'm fat."

"I didn't say that," protested Parvati. "Just . . . getting there."

"Seriously, no one's going to notice, Hermione. Stop stressing about it."

Reluctantly, she let the topic go, but the worries plagued her mind. She managed to spend a few minutes in the library, but she found nothing that was in any way useful.

She was still worrying about her dilemma the next evening when she met Draco once again in the Room of Requirement to study.

"So, the plan is for you to spend the holidays with the Patil twins in Spain, and for me to go to Blaise's mansion. I'll take the Hogwarts Express while you'll Floo there. But . . . is it alright for you to Floo in your condition?" Draco worried.

"Flooing is fine," Hermione reassured him. "I just can't Apparate. And it'd probably be best not to Floo during the third trimester."

"Trimester . . .?" Draco looked completely lost. Hermione giggled.

"It's a pregnancy term," she explained. "Honestly, read some books on the topic, Draco."

He shifted uncomfortably. "It's not as if the library has an abundance of that _type_ of book. And besides, what would the other blokes say if they spotted me reading _The Idiot's Guide to Pregnancy _in the Slytherin Common Room?"

She laughed at the thought. "I thought that was a purely Muggle series," she said.

"No, they have Wizarding _Idiot's Guide_ books too," said Draco seriously. "_The Idiot's Guide to Taking Care of Dragons without Sustaining Permanent Damage, The Idiot's Guide to Wizarding Restaurants that Won't Kill You, The Idiot's Guide to Surviving Azkaban . . ._ you get the picture."

She laughed even harder. "Too bad they don't have _The Idiot's Guide to Memory Charms and How to Recover from Them."_

"_The Idiot's Guide to Manipulative Professors and God-awful Friends," _supplied Draco.

"_The Idiot's Guide to Unraveling Diabolical Plots."_

"_The Idiot's Guide to Defeating Dark Lords and Semi-Dark Headmasters."_

It felt so good to laugh. But as soon as she thought about how nice it felt to relax, her worries returned, and she could hold in her question no longer.

"Draco, do I look different now?"

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"I mean, is the pregnancy showing? Do I look fat?"

Both eyebrows were up now. "That's a loaded question," said Draco warily. "What do you want me to say?"

"The truth," said Hermione, pinning him with a glare.

He suddenly smirked and stalked toward her. "Sure, you look different."

"How?" she squeaked. "Do you think people are noticing?"

"I certainly hope not," he said, grinning slyly and moving still closer. "I'd like to enjoy this change all by myself."

"What change?" Hermione frowned. "My stomach is getting fat."

"Your stomach looks fine. I was talking about your boobs."

Her jaw dropped. "My _boobs_?_"_

He shook his head seriously. "I'm sorry, Hermione. Your boobs are _definitely _bigger."

She was speechless, but then Draco chuckled before leaning in to plant a kiss on her lips. "And I like it," he growled, and Hermione giggled. Tension broken, she leaned in for another kiss and felt his arms encircle her waist. She couldn't resist one more question.

"Are you sure I don't _feel_ bigger? Around my waist, anyway."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I'll still like you even when you look like you've got a watermelon under your shirt, Hermione. Don't you get that?"

"Just making sure," she said, smiling. Then she kissed him again.

* * *

It was a half hour before they finally returned to their books. But even then, Draco had a hard time studying. He kept looking over at Hermione who was curled up with a thick copy of _Advanced Potions _propped on her stomach. A loose curl fell from her ear, and she brushed it away quickly, seemingly intent on her studying. But was she? He noticed that she hadn't turned a page in a long time.

Draco went back to his book, but he couldn't concentrate on his Ancient Runes assignment just yet. Something wasn't quite right.

He looked over at Hermione again and instantly knew why.

She was still staring at her book, but she was still on the same page, and this time there were tears silently rolling down her cheeks.

"Hermione, what's the matter?" He wisely left off the 'this time.'

The book slipped from her lap, and she buried her head in her hands. "Nothing." Her voice was muffled.

"Oh, please, Granger, don't lie to me," scoffed Draco, but nevertheless, he moved to sit next to her on the sofa and rubbed her back comfortingly. He didn't understand. Everything had been fine just a half hour before. What had happened? "You've never been able to lie. And you've never been able to hide anything from me."

A half-sob, half-chuckle. "Ever?"

"Alright, alright, at least not for the last two months," he compromised. "And probably last semester as well. So tell me what's wrong."

"Really, it's nothing," Hermione sniffed. "I'm hormonal and pregnant, that's all."

"I know you, though. There's something wrong."

Her shoulders shook, but she didn't say anything for a moment. When she did speak, her voice was barely louder than a whisper. "It's just that everything's so perfect."

Draco stopped, hands hovering over her shoulders. "_That's_ why you're crying? I would have thought that'd be a good thing."

"It is, it is!" she sobbed. "I don't want anything to change."

He turned her to face him. "Anything?"

She chuckled again, then sobbed, then swallowed hard. "Well, maybe I'd prefer to have my memories and perhaps I'd prefer not to be pregnant before getting out of school and getting married, but I meant between you and me. It's going good, you know?"

"And the problem with that is . . .?" He was an insensitive git, he knew, but he really, _really_ didn't understand girls. Especially not Hermione.

She gulped. "When we go to your house over Easter Hols, who knows what we might remember? It's just . . . I'm not sure I _want_ to know what happened. It might change something between you and me. And Draco, with everything that's happened since school started—my parents' deaths, the memory charms, losing my closest friends—I . . . I just can't bear to lose you too. I don't think I'd be able to survive that."

He took her shoulders and forced her to meet his eyes. "Hermione, nothing is going to change between us."

"How do you know?" she whispered.

"Nothing I remember will change what we have," said Draco with more confidence than he felt.

She closed her eyes.

"Are you afraid that I'll remember something that will repulse me from you, you'll remember something that will repulse you from me, or that we'll both be repulsed?"

Her eyes flew open. "No," she said, and it looked like she'd continue, but then she bowed her head. "Yes. To the last one."

Draco felt that same, cold, piercing fear in his chest—the one that came every time he wondered what _had _happened last December. He shuddered. If he'd done something to her—if he'd raped her . . .

He wouldn't be able to live with himself.

"Look at me, Hermione. I can't imagine what we'll remember when we arrive at Malfoy Manor, but I can tell you honestly that nothing I'll remember will change the way I feel about you. _Nothing."_

She didn't reply.

"Do you believe me?"

"Everything is so complicated," she said evasively, but Draco took her hands.

"Hermione, look at me," he commanded. Slowly, she met his eyes. "It's only complicated when you think too much," Draco continued softly, trying to make her understand. "It's just you and me. You, me, and . . ." He swallowed hard. "_Our_ baby. Nothing else matters. Forget about Dumbledore and McGonagall and your lousy good-for-nothing friends and that blasted Order of the Phoenix—just focus on us—you and me."

She blinked furiously, feeing the unshed tears collecting in her eyes.

"I . . ." He shuffled his feet. "I really do care about you," blurted Draco, and although he was looking away, he'd meant it. "I remember things…lots of things I didn't expect to remember." He paused, struggling as past and present feelings waged war against class and pureblood teachings ingrained in him since birth. "I think I'm in love with you."

Her head snapped up, and he felt a sharp pain at the incredulous look in her eyes. Was it so hard to believe? Then her eyes softened. "Do you really mean it?" asked Hermione, her voice brimming with awe and hope.

He took a moment to stop and examine his feelings. Slowly, with meticulous accuracy, he recalled the memories that had come flooding back with every moment stolen, every treasured evening spent with her—he was holding her as she cried, wondering how he'd gotten himself into this situation, furiously fighting back the feeling of pity, of compassion, emotions that were so bewildering that he'd wondered if he'd even experienced them before—he was patrolling with her, laughing at some inconsequential thing, wondering why he'd never before seen past her Muggleborn birth and Gryffindor robes—he was defending her from his best mate who had just insulted the girl he now considered even more than a friend, and he hoped Zabini never found out how close Draco had come to inflicting bodily harm in his moment of blind rage—his heart was being smashed into a thousand pieces when she pulled away from the kiss that night at the top of the Astronomy tower, choosing _Weasley _over him—and then, he was kissing her again, and even though the surge of electricity in his veins told him this time it was different, he still scarcely dared to believe that she might feel the same as him; and his hope grew as seconds turned into minutes and still she hadn't pushed him away, hadn't rejected his advances, hadn't stopped returning his kisses . . .

And so, when he looked her in the eye and said, "Yes," he knew without a shadow of doubt that it was the truth.

Somehow, he'd fallen in love with Hermione Granger.

* * *

For the most part, Draco tried to avoid the uncivilised two-thirds of the Golden Trio, but on Friday, something happened that made him break his no-contact rule. It was in between his classes, and he must not have been looking where he was going, because when he rounded the corner on the third floor, he ran straight into the Boy-Who-Lived.

He swore under his breath as he stumbled to regain his balance, nearly dropping his bag. Luck seemed to be in his favor—Potter hadn't been so lucky.

"Bastard," sneered Weasley, his voice dripping with malice as he helped Potter pick up the scattered books and parchments.

Draco had been about to walk away, but he stopped. Calling _him_ a bastard was a little too much.

"Say that one more time," he challenged, crossing his arms across his chest.

Weasley's eyes blazed; he stepped up next to Potter. "Bastard," he said slowly, venomously.

"Really, Weasley, is that the worst you can come up with?" drawled Draco, narrowing his eyes. The fight was on. "I realise that your parents probably never sent you to school before Hogwarts—probably couldn't afford it—so that explains the lack of civility in conversation, doesn't it?"

"You don't deserve civility, Malfoy!" shouted Weasley, red-faced and trembling. Draco noted that one of Potter's arms now restrained Weasley from jumping him. Or hexing him, perhaps. Interesting. "You're a lowlife, a scumbag, a . . ."

"Spare me, Weasel." He tapped his foot impatiently. "Will there be a duel or not? Because then we can skip the uncultured pre-duel insults and bragging, and I can get on to the fun part—kicking your asses."

"Why you little . . ." began Weasley, but he was too angry to finish his sentence. Both Potter's and Weasley's wands were drawn now, Draco observed, and he lazily pulled his own wand from his pocket and twirled it through his fingers.

A crowd had gathered—as always when there was a fight between Gryffindors and Slytherins—but now there was a rustle from the back, and out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw Hermione appear on the fringe, her expression angry. "Draco! Harry! What on earth are you doing?"

Wrong choice of words, he thought as Potter's face paled. Potter rotated slowly toward Hermione, and Draco absently thought that if he didn't have a bit of honor left, he could get in a good hex while the other boy's attention was sufficiently diverted.

"You're on a first name basis with _him_?" growled Harry dangerously.

Hermione seemed to realise her mistake, but Draco was proud when she recovered quickly. "I'll call him whatever I bloody like," she said stiffly, and Potter and Weasley seemed to be more shocked by her colourful language than by her initial referral to him as "Draco."

"Hermione," began Weasley, but she turned on him."

"Don't _Hermione_ me, Ronald Weasley! What I call the Head Boy—hell, what I _do_ with the Head Boy is my business and my business alone."

The opportunity was too good. "Planning on _doing_ something with me later? Something nasty, perhaps in the Astronomy Tower? Or maybe a broom closet—I know a few good ones . . ."

He ducked as a red jet of light flew over his head. "Don't you dare talk about Hermione that way!" shouted Potter, enraged.

Draco snuck a look at Hermione. She rolled her eyes and shrugged her shoulders indifferently. She really did have that one coming, and she seemed to have realised it.

"You'll pay for talking to her like that," growled Potter.

Draco took a step closer and leered at Potter. "After everything _you've_ done," he hissed softly, too quietly for Weasley to hear. "You actually have the gall to talk about what _I _say to Granger?"

Potter turned white. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Draco arched an eyebrow. "I don't?"

"No. You don't," Potter said, sounding more confident now. "You're a dirty, rotten liar, Malfoy . . ."

"Do you really want to take that chance?"

The other boy faltered. "What chance?"

"The chance that I'm bluffing," hissed Draco so no one else could hear. "The chance that I have no idea what I'm talking about when I say that _you're_ the one who's completely screwed Hermione's life over. You claim to be her friend? Ha. Her worst enemy, more like—because frankly, no matter how much I detest Mudbloods, I would have never done the same thing to her that you and your bloody Order did . . ."

"Shut the hell up!" shouted Potter, his wand arm trembling. "There's two of us and one of you . . ."

"Actually," said Blaise Zabini emerging from the crowd and stepping up next to Draco, "now it's even."

Draco lifted his chin, staring unblinkingly at the two Gryffindors. Weasley and Potter seemed to shrink back a little, and so they should—from early on, the sons of the Purebloods were trained in self-defense and dueling, often learning spells that bordered or even crossed the carefully-drawn Ministerial line separating "light" and "dark" magic.

He was disappointed when at that very moment Snape appeared to break up the fight, predictably taking points from the Gryffindors but not from Slytherins. The crowd quickly dispersed, not wanting to be seen as guilty by association, no doubt, but as the Head of Slytherin left the scene, the man shot Draco an angry warning look.

Not quite understanding, Draco turned back to Blaise and briefly clapped him on the shoulder. "Thanks," he muttered before striding off in the direction Potter and Weasley had headed. He caught up to them quickly.

"If you value your life and more importantly, your friendship with Granger," said Draco quietly in Potter's ear and the boy stiffened, "you'll keep your fat mouth closed. Understand?"

The words didn't seem to have an effect, besides the stiffness in posture as Potter walked. Draco easily matched his strides.

"If you care anything about what's best for _Hermione,_ then, you'll keep your mouth shut and stay the hell away from her," hissed Draco.

This time, Potter's shoulders jerked. A long moment, and then slowly, his head nodded.

"I'm so thrilled that we understand each other," said Draco tightly before melting back into the crowd. He felt a fierce flame of satisfaction burn in his chest; for now, it was enough, but soon the urge for revenge would appear again. He only hoped that when his anger resurfaced, he would be able to keep himself from murdering Potter and Weasley in cold blood. After all, they deserved it.

**A/N: **Posted 9 November 2008. Good god, three months. When I finally assembled this chapter together it was over eight thousand words, so I split it up into two parts. I'll post the second part on Tuesday. Earlier if I get the notion. Happy reading! And sincerest apologies--I'm absolutely out of my mind busy, and to top it all off, I came down with strep throat this weekend, the only reason why I'm getting this posted at all: I'm quarantined in my room.

As for Hermione's pregnancy, although I've never been pregnant myself, I'm trying to get all the facts right--I'm in OB right now (Labor and Delivery class for Nursing). On Monday I'm going to the hospital to see live births! :D


	15. As I Am

"Meet me in the Charms Classroom at seven tonight," Blaise had whispered to her as he passed her in the hall that afternoon, and now Hermione was there, sitting on the desk and swinging her legs impatiently. Ten minutes had already passed. Where was he?

She tried to think of what he wanted to see her for, but the answer evaded her. It danced in her subconscious, but she seemed unable to reach out and grasp it. Hermione sighed. It wasn't enough that she'd forgotten nearly five months of her life. Now she was forgetting little things. She must be going senile.

Easter hols was rushing upon her. Only two weeks away now, and still she hadn't a clue how she would journey to Malfoy Manor without the detection of Dumbledore and the Order. At the same time, she was terrified of what she would find there. The thought had occured to her that her relationship with Draco, however sincere he was now, might have been less than truthful before. Perhaps they'd been obliviated because he had been playing her all along. Perhaps he'd raped her. Perhaps the refreshingly honest, sometimes head-splittingly annoying, and wonderfully thoughtful boy she knew now hadn't always been so. He didn't remember the circumstances or events any better than she. When she went to Malfoy Manor, would she remember things she didn't want to know?

When fifteen minutes had passed, Blaise suddenly burst into the room. "Sorry I'm late," he panted. "I had some last minute preparations to finish."

"Preparations for what?" Hermione demanded.

Blaise dumped his bag on the desktop and rolled his eyes at her. "You needed help, remember? I know you've been looking for a charm to hide that your showing."

"Oh, that," said Hermione. She had thought of nothing else ever since her clothes started to feel a bit tighter.

"I've got an answer for you."

"You do," she said skeptically.

"Don't give me that look," scolded Blaise. "I know you've already scoured the library for such a charm. Well, never fear. I have just the one."

"How could you possibly have something up your sleeve that I haven't heard of? It's impossible."

"Improbable. Not impossible. After all, wasn't it Draco who came up with the answer to your returning memories?"

"Touche."

"Listen. Once you've heard me out, you'll believe me. My sister got pregnant before she got married."

Hermione's eyes widened.

Blaise grimaced. "Not a good situation. I was only a first year at the time, and the only reason I knew was because I'd guessed. If she'd been found out, it would have made a huge scandal, especially since that sort of thing just isn't done in the Pureblood world. But she was a Ravenclaw, and if anything else, that sort knows how to research. Her friends and she developed a solution, half potion, half charm."

"Go on," said Hermione slowly.

"You've probably already done some research on the topic. Am I correct?"

She nodded.

"Then you already know that concealing charms are very difficult to manage, this being the main reason why Howarts witches usually resort to weight-loss potions to slim their figures rather than concealing charms. It's simply too hard. For one, if you were to cast a concealing charm on your robes, it might last eight to twelve hours, but then what? And what if you were to change clothes? Get hot and shed your outer robe? You'd need to cast the cham on every piece of clothing you owned to be safe, but what if you forgot? Then the secret would be out."

"I know all this," said Hermione impatiently. "Get to your point."

"Hold your hippogriffs." Blaise grinned; Hermione rolled her eyes, knowing that he was enjoying the suspense. "The second option would be to cast the concealing charm on yourself. But obviously, that would be be dangerous for your unborn child. But also it also, most charms like that only make your stomach look thinner if there is no clothing covering it, which is why this charm is most popular among witches going on holiday who want to look better in bikinis. And I assure you, it works." He winked at her.

Hermione hit his arm. "Blaise, I'm warning you . . ."

"Alright, alright. My sister and her friends knew about this problem, so they developed a potion that would cause concealing charms not to effect the baby, and then a charm that was strong enough to work not only on skin, but also on the clothes as well."

"Really? Where did they get the ideas?"

"Evidently, back before wizards had developed proper contraceptive spells, girls had to find ways to hide their pregnancies. There was mention of these methods in several old books. _Hogwarts, A History_, for one.

"It can't be in there," said Hermione, flustered. "I'd have noticed. I've read the book eight times."

"It's only in the editions printed before 1462," Blaise told her. "Even the Hogwarts Library doesn't have editions dating that far back. Evidently in 1462, contraceptives were invented, so the editors took that part out, deeming it irrelevant. Besides, they had to make room to write about several new species of ghouls introduced into the dungeons."

She was already planning to search out the antique book stores in Diagon Alley over holidays in search of an older edition of _Howarts, a History. _But then she realised that her time would be otherwise occupied during Easter Hols--occupied in solving a mystery she wasn't sure she wanted the answer to.

"Anyway," Blaise was saying, "do you want the instructions to the charm and potion?"

"Oh, yes," said Hermione, her mind still a million miles away.

". . . but I just figured that you or Draco would want to make the potion yourselves. I mean, I would have done it, but you two are so jumpy of late, and, well . . ." Blaise laughed, snapping Hermione out of her thoughts.

"Oh, right. Thanks," she said. Blaise held out the parchment, but she didn't immediately reach to take it. He waved his hands in front of her face and snapped his finger. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Fine," she assured him, smiling weakly. "Thanks for your help."

"Any time," said Blaise, eyeing her warily. "Are you sure I shouldn't follow you back to Gryffindor Tower just to make sure you don't topple down a stairway or crash into a statue or something?"

"I'll be fine,`" she said, laughing a little. "Really, Blaise. You've already done enough."

He mumbled something like, "Not enough," but she wasn't quite sure, so she didn't say anything.

"Well, I've got to get going before Harry and Ron notice I'm missing," she excused herself, just a hint of bitterness in her voice.

Blaise looked sympathetic. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright. I'll manage, but not for the last time do I wish the Heads could have separate quarters."

"Usually they do," said Blaise, and Hermione blinked at him.

"No, they don't," she said automatically, then stopped. Did they? Something was beginning to tickle at the back of her brain again.

"You and Draco decided not to have separate dorms at the beginning of the school year," Blaise explained. "It's a commodity that Heads can chose to utilize, but as the rest of the school was under the impression that the two of you would tear each others' heads off, everyone, even you, thought it'd be best if you two still resided in your separate dormitories. You and Draco denied the school's offer."

She nodded vaguely, searching for a flashback or memory, but nothing appeared. "I wish we'd accepted," she muttered.

He nodded sympathetically. "It'd make everything better, wouldn't it?"

"And we couldn't ask for it now. They'd suspect something,"

"Your life sucks."

Hermione laughed. "Thank you for that very intellectual summarization, Blaise. I think I'd better go now, though."

"Alright. Take care of yourself."His eyes were serious.

She sighed. "I will. I promise."

* * *

As she climbed the stairway to her dormitory, Hermione felt a huge weight lift off her shoulders. She looked again at the parchment, marveling at the complexity of both spell and potion. Her analytical mind told her that both would work. One day, she wanted to meet Belle Zabini and personally thank her. Blaise's sister sounded like quite a character.

Lavender and Parvati were in the room when she entered, the former sprawled on her bed with _Witch Weekly_, the latter washing off a green face mask.

"What did Blaise want?" Parvati said immediately, and Hermione wondered how she'd known. _Duh. _Padma had known, and the twins shared everything. But before she could answer, Lavender jumped in.

"To give her a potion that'll hide her stomach, of course."

Ah, yes. The girlfriend would know. Parvati looked annoyed.

Hermione sighed. "It was very kind of him. But don't you two have essays due tomorrow?"

"Padma already helped us with them," said Lavender dismissively. "And we already did the Charms and Divination homework several days ago."

It occurred to Hermione that if Lavender and Parvati actually cared about school work, they might pull grades worthy of Ravenclaws.

"What are you two planning to do when you graduate?" she asked suddenly.

The girls looked at her like she'd grown a third eye. "You've been our roommate for how many years now, and you still don't know?" exclaimed Lavender.

Hermione blinked, racking her mind as to when it'd become common knowledge what the "Barbie sisters," as the younger Muggleborn students had unaffectionately dubbed them, had chosen as their future careers. She drew a blank.

"I'm such a horrible friend," she murmured.

To her astonishment, Lavender laughed. "It's alright, Hermione. We understand. You've always been more focused on Harry and Ron, and admittedly, we didn't give you any reason to be interested in our lives, anyway."

"We were kind of mean back then," said Parvati, looking ashamed.

"I still should have been more attractive," said Hermione, still feeling it was her fault. "But do tell me."

"We decided back in our second year that we wanted to go to fashion school," began Lavender.

"My sister helped us look up different schools and their basic-level entry requirements," continued Parvati. "So we applied for Malkins' Institute of Fashion and Design here in London, LeMarc's School of Décor in Paris, and several other schools in Spain, Italy, and America. We've been accepted to all but the one in Paris."

"They're all snobs, anyway," Lavender said dismissively.

"Fashion school," repeated Hermione disbelievingly.

"Don't look so surprised." Lavender grinned. "Wizards have to get their robes from somewhere."

"Our plan is to slowly introduce Muggle designs into Wizard-wear. Robes are so stuffy and impractical."

"And the classes required?" asked Hermione.

"That's the best part," said Lavender. "Just NEWT's in Charms and Transfiguration."

"And an OWL in Potions," Parvati reminded her, grimacing. "That ws the hardest."

"That's why we don't study like you, Hermione. As long as we keep up in Charms and Transfiguration, we're set."

"Charms comes pretty easily," said Parvati. "Transfiguration takes some work, but Padma's a genius at it, so she usually tutors us."

"And your other class?"

"Inconsequential. Dropped Potions. Usually we do fine in Divination, Astronomy, and Muggle Studies. DADA takes some work, but Dumbledore's Army really raised our grades in that class. We dropped Care of Magical Creatures, and of course, History of Magic."

"I think we're going to go to the school in America," Lavender put in. "Europe is so eighteenth-century when it comes to Wizard fashion. They've offered us scholarships for some of the designs we submitted."

"That's amazing," Hermione said, meaning it. "I'm really glad for you. At least you know what you want to do when you leave here."

"What, you don't know yet?" Lavender looked surprised.

Hermione shook her head, crossing the room and plopping down on her bed. "I haven't had a chance to think about it. Back in fourth year, Harry and Ron had big plans about all of us going to Auror Academy, but obviously that won't be happening." She forced a laugh.

Parvati threw her a sympathetic look.

"I'd thought of continuing my education after I graduate," said Hermione quietly. "But now that won't be possible." She grimaced at her stomach.

"Having a baby won't ruin your life, Hermione!"

It was Lavender who had spoken. Hermione looked at her disbelievingly. "Lav, a baby is a big responsibility."

"And Draco will help," said Lavender, sitting next to Hermione and putting a hand on her shoulder. "You know he will! He's different now. He's not just going to abandon you."

"That's what I thought about my other friends."

"Draco's changed."

"That's what I want to believe." She sighed. "Sorry for ruining the mood. I think I'm going to bed now, though."

"Get some sleep, hon," said Parvati. "Maybe you'll feel better in the morning."

"Maybe," said Hermione, unconvinced.

Lying in bed, a half hour later, with the silencing charms in place, she allowed the tears to escape her eyes and roll noiselessly down her cheeks.

* * *

The scenery outside flew by in a dizzying blur of colors and lights; Lavender leaned against the cool window pane, already missing her best friends whom she had just said good-bye to an hour before. She squeezed her eyes closed, feeling her stomach tighten in anxiety. They'd planned carefully. Nothing would go wrong. Nothing _could_ go wrong. At this very moment, Lavender reassured herself, Hermione and the twins were flooing from McGonagall's office to Parvati and Padma's home in Devon, from which the Patils would be departing soon after, journeying to Bermuda to spend the spring holidays. Hermione, of course, would be Apparating to Malfoy Manor, but everyone else would think that she was soaking up the warm sunshine in Bermuda—no one would know the truth. No one except her closest friends.

She stared down at the crumpled note in her hand, then at the silver watch her father had given her for her last birthday. _Meet me in the Head's Compartment at eleven,_ the note said in neat, spidery handwriting. Her watch showed ten fifty-eight, so Lavender rose to her feet, smoothed out her robes, and gracefully exited the empty compartment. She made her way down the narrow rocking corridor, through two more cars, then into the quieter Prefect's car. The compartments were farther and fewer apart here, the carpet a royal blue color, and the windows decorated in gold curtains. The last compartment on the right belonged to the Heads, but she knew it would be empty. Draco was in a compartment further back in the train with Pansy and the other Slytherins in his year, keeping up appearances. But Lavender knew his stay at the Zabini Mansion would be short-lived. He'd be joining Hermione, and from then on, only Merlin knew how they'd spend their holidays or what they'd discover along the way.

"Hermione's a lucky girl," murmured Lavender to herself as she pushed open the door to the Heads' Compartment.

Strong arms slipped around her waist. "So are you," murmured Blaise, his mouth close to her ear, the deep tones vibrating down her neck and into her shoulder. Lavender shivered involuntarily.

She leaned back into his embrace. "You think they'll be alright?" she whispered, voicing her fears at last.

"You worry too much," said Blaise, digging his fingers artfully into her tensed shoulders. She couldn't stop the low moan that escaped her mouth.

"Mmmm. You're good."

"I know," said Blaise, and she could practically feel his radiating smirk.

"Dirty-minded boy. If you don't stop that soon I may be forced to jump you."

"I don't think I'd mind."

Lavender giggled, then relaxed back into his touch for a few more minutes before finally turning to face him. Slipping her arms around his neck, she stood on her tiptoes and planted a gentle kiss on his lips. "Thanks."

"If you think you're going to get away with a simple 'thank you' for that unbeatable back rub, you're wrong. You owe me."

She arched an eyebrow. "I do, do I?"

"I can think of a few ways you could repay me."

Lavender took the bait. "And is this one of them?" she suggested coyly, kissing him again, her free hand lightly caressing his back.

"Perhaps," said Blaise carefully.

"How about this?"

She nibbled her way down his jawline and neck to the point where his white shirt collar got in the way, all the while running her fingers lightly over his chest.

"Better," said Blaise.

"And this?"

She lifted her lips to meet his again, locking onto him with more intensity this time, allowing him to roughly explore her mouth as their tongues battled each other. Her hand moved farther south, dipping into the waistband of his trousers and stroking his bum just as the kiss was reaching its height of passion.

Blaise jerked a little, then stiffened, and as Lavender went in for another kiss, pressing her body against him, she instantly knew why he'd become so statue-like. She smirked to herself. All men were the same. But this one was hers, and she wasn't about to mess this up by rushing into things too quickly. Still, it was too tempting not to have a _little_ fun.

"Better?" said Lavender in a low voice, deliberately grinding against him, relishing the guttural moan that issued from the back of his throat.

"Too . . . good," whispered Blaise jerkily, his indigo eyes blazing. He leaned down and kissed her again, slipping his hands to her waist, rubbing little circles on her lower back. His hands were driving her crazy. She slipped her hands under his shirt and grazed her fingertips up the flat planes of his chest . . . he pushed her back into the seat, and she threw a leg over and positioned herself on his lap, not caring that his fingers were making fast work of her shirt buttons . . .

And then, unfortunately, she remembered her resolve. "No," she gasped, panting for air as she reluctantly pushed away from him. "Not here, not now."

Blaise didn't protest when she scurried to remove herself from his lap and hurriedly re-buttoned her shirt, red-faced and embarrassed. She felt like a slut. A dirty, whoring slut. . .she'd promised herself that this time things would be different . . . and for what?

He was going to think she was a slut too. She folded her arms across her chest, humiliated.

"I'm sorry," she said to the floor. "I . . . you have to understand . . . I just don't want to mess things up."

Blaise slid closer. "What do you mean?" he said gently.

Lavender studied her fingernails. "I've never been in a _real_ relationship before," she said at last, slowly, looking anywhere but at him. "Not like this."

A long moment passed, and when she couldn't bear the tension any more, she looked up to find that he was watching her intently. Blood flooded her face again. "I don't want to rush this, you know? I'm afraid that if I treat you like just another bloke, then . . ."

"You're afraid this will end like the others did," finished Blaise.

She nodded, and her hair fell into her face. "We're not like Draco and Hermione," she whispered. "They've overcome memory spells, pregnancies, evil conspiracies . . . it's different—I'm different. I'm not strong like her, or brave, or so innocent either."

He brushed her hair out of her face gently. "I know."

"I'm not wonder-girl-Granger. I don't get good grades, I'm not always loyal to my friends, I've always had really shitty tastes in blokes—I pick the ones who'll trample all over me, the ones who will use me and then throw me away and I don't know why I do it again and again."

She was surprised when he pressed a handkerchief into her hand; then she realised that her face was wet. She worried that her mascara was going to run as she dabbed carefully at the tears. "I was jealous of Padma for her boyfriend. Seamus really seemed to care about her. When Padma broke things off with him, I couldn't believe she'd let him go, and I was mad at her for dumping him and he was mad at her too . . . it all went so quickly and before I knew it I was snogging him in front of the whole school for revenge."

Blaise said nothing—he just sat there, his warm, comforting hand resting on her shoulder. She took a great, shuddering breath and somehow found the strength to continue. "That's not it, though," she whispered shakily. "I did—stuff—with him. Things I really, _really_ regret, and when he 'dumped' me the day after he said that all the rumors were true, I was nothing but a dirty whore."

Somehow, after admitting it all, she felt better, calmer, and she was able to meet his eyes. She'd expected to see disgust and anger there, but there was no judgment. Instead, there was understanding.

"You're the only good thing that's happened to me in a long, _long_ time," said Lavender, swallowing back the lump in her throat. "I don't want to lose this."

She couldn't read his expression. Maybe he understood, but wouldn't he be angry? She'd just spilled her innermost thoughts.

"You won't," said Blaise quietly, his expression intense.

She took a shaky breath. "But what if I _do?" _she whispered. "What if you're like all the rest?"

"I used to be," he whispered. "But I'm not anymore. Hermione didn't just change Draco. Knowing her changed me too. I swear, Lavender, I was . . ." He swallowed hard. "You remember my reputation."

She did remember his reputation. "It wasn't any worse than mine."

He shook his head. "I wish you were right," he muttered. Then Blaise seemed to collect himself. "Last year, I knocked up Daphne Greengrass."

Lavender couldn't help the gasp that escaped her lips.

Blaise wasn't meeting her eyes, and she instantly regretted her reaction. Blaise took a breath. "She didn't tell me until after she'd already gotten rid of the baby," he said in a rush. "Obviously, I was shocked. I thought she was using a Contraceptive Spell."

Lavender thought of the many times she'd been absolutely terrified when her period had come late or when she'd come back to her dorm to shower after "hooking up" with a bloke and realised that she hadn't used the spell. It could happen to anybody.

"Then it sounds like we're both pretty much even on the 'dirty past' scale," she said bitterly. "Blaise, I don't care what you've done before. How could I? It'd be hypocritical, especially after all the blokes who have dumped me for being 'used material.'"

"I don't think you're 'used material.'" He leaned in and stroked her cheek.

Lavender looked away. "You might if you knew everything."

"Even then, nothing would change."

She was silent for a moment, and the compartment rocked as the Hogwarts Express sped around a corner. "Blaise, does it bother you to think about the other blokes I've been with?"

"Does it bother you to think of Daphne?"

Lavender bowed her head. "Yes," she admitted in a tiny voice.

"Every time I see a bloke in the halls who I know you've been with before, I want to kill him," said Blaise quietly.

She reached out for him, and he pulled her into his arms. She felt safe there, unlike any other boy who had held her ever before. After a few minutes, she said, "Blaise, do you think that we're just to messed up to ever work together?"

He waited a moment before replying, stroking her hair with long, gentle repetitions. "I think that it's only because you and I are alike this that we can work," he said firmly. "Can you imagine me dating Hermione?"

Lavender giggled.

"She's too innocent. Not that it's bad, of course, but she would never understand what it's like to be known by your reputation. Now, imagine you dating Harry Potter."

"Asshole," coughed Lavender, and Blaise laughed, a deep, rumbling sound in his chest. She felt the laugh vibrate through her body.

"Just think about it."

"It'd never work," admitted Lavender. "I know for a fact that he's still a virgin. I'm not sure I could seriously date someone so 'perfect.' Besides, he's been so horrible to Hermione, and he's got the hero complex with Voldemort after him at every turn . . ."

Blaise laughed again. "I get it. You'd never work. But now you understand why we work so well with each other. We understand each other."

She snuggled still closer. "Are you sure about me, Blaise?"

In reply, he leaned close and ever-so-gently brushed his lips against hers as he stroked her cheek. "Does that answer your question?"

It did.

**A/N: **Kind of an odd, filler chapter. Not really Draco/Hermione-centric at all. I got a little too involved in character development, I suppose. Lavender and Blaise are both intricately complicated characters in my mind, and their story deserves to be told, even though I haven't elaborated on it in the past. Next chapter, Malfoy Manor. I've already got part written, but I can't promise to post again until Thanksgiving when I have some more time to write.

_"Ah, love, let us be true to one another, For the world, which seems to lie before us like a land of dreams, so various, so beautiful, so new, hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain." - Matthew Arnold_


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